The Hour of the Stag
by MarinAllKarins
Summary: Steffon and Joanna, the eldest and trueborn children of Robert and Cersei, had never thought that the game of thrones would rear its ugly head again. When the war of wolves, lions and dragons and all in-between come to play the great game, two young stags will become formidable contenders. Some pairings undecided. Ch. 1-7 were beta'd/co-written by: HPuni101.
1. In the Lion's Den

**Disclaimer** : I, in no shape or form, own ASOIAF/GoT and neither does HPuni101.

 **Author's Note** : Hello everyone! I decided to remake this story with several different changes all because I like this idea better than the first one I had. I'm letting you all know that most of this will be somewhat of an AU because the trueborn arc would not fit with the direction I'm taking this story. That means Ned's story/ending will change, Jon Arryn is unaware of Cersei and Jaime's relationship and children, and Stannis never fled King's Landing! I am going to keep a lot of canon, but only in the way it'll fit into this AU.

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"They're not mine." The golden-haired knight's words played both roles of question and answer. He knew the truth, he saw it staring at him in the face, but he just needed for it to be re-confirmed. Jaime simply needed to hear her say it or else he might believe that both children in these bassinets with the Stag insignia stitched with black thread in the hooded section are his. For a minute's time, Jaime wanted to believe that at least one—the one with the fair hair—might truly be his first born.

"They're not yours." Cersei's voice was akin to steel and Jaime felt like he had been pierced with the essence of a sword. His sister, his lover, had made promises that every child sired by Robert would never breathe life. She would not carry them, the seed would be decimated before it took root in her womb by the swallow of moon tea. Not only did she break this promise once, she broke it twice. She gave Robert twins, a boy and a girl; something just like them. The boy was strong, red, and healthy with a head full of hair that matched the color of Robert's. The girl, who he hoped was his, had Cersei's fair hair and was small and quiet.

As Jaime's green eyes gazed upon his sister, he could already tell that she had fallen in love with the newborn twins already. Whatever space that he occupied in her heart had lessened some. Both children had taken a part of her heart that children were meant to do. Even with as weak and tired Cersei was after given birth, she found the strength to gaze at her children as if she was the strongest woman to ever walk the earth.

"You love them." Bitter as he was, Jaime would not ruin her moment – at least not entirely. She was freshly a mother, hostile and protective as she naturally should be. Cersei was more like a lion than he ever was, and a mother lion protects her cubs as if that is the only thing they know how to do. Minding his words wasn't his specialty but he knew Cersei was fiercer now than how she usually is. "Have you thought to name them?"

"Robert has already given the boy his name," she replied almost like she wasn't at all happy. "He named him Steffon after his father." Jaime guiltily liked the spite that was in her voice. The angry and upset piece of him enjoyed that she would have to suffer for that. "And what of your twin? Not me, the girl. She looks like you."

Her lips formed a smile, her eyes lost their hardened look and took a more warm appearance. Cersei rarely ever looks so lovingly like that. Even when she gazes at him, she still has an intense aura about her. "She does not look like me," Cersei's voice was soft, her slender hand reaching to stroke the side of the girl's rosy and plump face, "she looks like mother."

"Even after all these years, you still remember her." Jaime's eyes peered down at the newborn girl, the one he desperately hoped for the briefest of moments to be his.

"I could never forget her." Quietly, Cersei's eyes glanced over to her son. "He may be Robert's but I refuse for him to grow to be like him. He is still every bit as mine as he is Robert's. He will not taint him. He will not ruin him just as he has ruined everything else."

 _ **STEFFON**_

"What of the Lady Desmera of House Redwyne?" Little would Jon Arryn know, Steffon was completely somewhere else in his mind. His hand was in a loose fist, pressed against his cheek as he leaned into the chair with his limb propped on the chair's arm. It was more than obvious that he wasn't at all interested in such things like marriage. Steffon would much rather be training, spending his time perfecting his archery since his skill with the sword was already impeccable. How could it not be with men like Ser Barristan the Bold and Jaime Lannister as teachers? His skill with the bow, however, was lacking and Steffon wished to see an end to that.

"My mother doesn't much care for the Redwynes," Steffon bristled, knowing very that no matter who his mother liked or didn't like, it would not sway how the marriage would go. She could voice her complaints as much as she liked, but if his father saw it fit then it would come to be. A queen did not have enough power to overthrow the demands that a king sets as much as his mother would like to believe she could. Her art of persuading a man like Robert Baratheon was like convincing a fish to stop swimming. You could not tame a Stag, you can only let it do as it will.

Jon Arryn let out a tired sigh, a slow shake of his head being done. The man had been sickly as of late and Steffon wasn't sure if it was because of his age or an illness was trying to claim him before his time. The Stranger, when he desires, comes for both sinners and saints, of that Steffon is very aware. "It matters not who your queen mother likes or no, although I am sure she will voice it either way." Jon Arryn shakily lowered the parchment of suitable ladies meant to be queen to Steffon and let his tired eyes lay on the Crown Prince. "You are seven-and-ten now, Prince Steffon. As much as you enjoy your solitude, you cannot remain unmarried. You will need a wife and she will give you heirs, a future king. Do you know how old your father was when he was meant to marry the Lady Lyanna Stark?"

"Twenty, My Lord." His voice lacked the enthusiasm, having heard the tale of his father's rebellion from all sides and from different mouths and minds; biased and unbiased. The more he heard it, the more annoyed he became.

"He would've married her sooner had the rebellion not be needed and Rhaegar Targaryen never took Lady Stark whilst in Harrenhal." If his mother would've heard Lyanna's name being spoken in these halls, she would've roared. Steffon wasn't allowed to say the woman's name and he never met Lady Lyanna, who died before he was even conceived. His twin, however, always romanticized their father's love and devotion despite it being completely for another woman. It was the only way their father had remained in such a bright light to her or else Steffon feared she would've become as jaded about him as Steffon had about both their parents actions.

"I am very much aware, Lord Arryn. I am not ready for a wife is all." Of that he would admit, despite how weak it sounded. Steffon was not like his father, able to charm a woman to break in the bed during his own brother's wedding. He was also not prudish like his Uncle Stannis neither. The Crown Prince only wanted someone who could make him comfortable and give good counsel, but he met no woman like that. He doubted he would find such a woman in an arranged marriage.

The Lord of the Vale and Hand of the King gave him the weakest of smiles. "I understand how you must feel, My Prince. Happiness, however, does not secure the future of the realm. Happiness does not make sure another Mad King sits on the Iron Throne again. You must be vigilant on what it means to be king, you know I strongly believe you care for the realm."

Just a flicker of hope and a small smile came across Steffon's face as he looked away from the man he looked at as a grandfather. "You say that as if I had any other choice."

"Now, will you at least entertain the idea of marrying one of these ladies? I have other duties as Hand that I must attend to." Steffon gave a firm nod before lifting himself from his seat. As soon as he turned to make his way out of the tower of the Hand, the door was opened. It was Ser Hugh of the Vale, squire of Jon Arryn. With him, in his hands, was a tray with a simple goblet that looked to be filled to the brim with wine.

Hugh's eyes immediately widened upon the sight of him before he bowed his head as low as he could. "My Prince." Respectful as he was, Steffon couldn't help but to feel so wary of him.

With a suspicious squint, he bowed his head before looking back at Lord Arryn. "If I am to be married, Lord Arryn," Steffon began, hand now resting on the handle of the door, "my sister will have to wed as well, wouldn't she?"

"Your father has lords in mind for Princess Joanna." He wondered just how his sister would feel about this news. As spirited as she was, Joanna was a girl that clung onto her freedom as if it was a physical thing. When she would learn that marriage would come to claim her soon, he knew that the lion side of her would soon overpower the fawn. "Do not tell her, My Prince. I'm sure you know your father plans to be the one to do so."

"I'm well aware." With a slight wave of his hand, Steffon Baratheon had left the tower to train on his archery as he wanted.

 _ **JOANNA**_

Lannister.

The infamous House with the sigil of a roaring lion. Lions represented courage, monarchy, and dignity, but most of all… Lions represented power. All the Lannisters before her held some mighty way about them. They stood proud and tall with an air about them that could bring you to your knees by sheer presence or make you stare in deep reverence. Lannister was of her blood, of her mother's side. Even with that knowledge, of having that Lannister blood, Joanna always felt like a house cat posing as a ferocious lion. Her brother was a Stag from head to toe, but she was a Lion. She knew it so from looks alone.

No matter how much she wanted to cloak herself with the golden skin of a lion with a wild mane, she couldn't help but feel so small and helpless. Even now, standing in the middle of her mother's chambers, she could not stop the shaking of her shoulders nor the downpour of her tears. Weak. She was weak, but she could not help it. She could not stop it. It wasn't in her to be strong. It never was.

"No more tears."

Those words were easier said than done, especially coming from her formidable mother. Joanna was not blessed with her strength ( nor her father's ) so she kept letting the droplets pour and her lips keep uttering out the sobs that quaked her small frame. The girl was in shambles; trembling with shakes of grief. How was she supposed to end her tears? How was she supposed to make herself calm? Jon Arryn was dead and it broke her heart.

The man was like another grandfather to her and a father to her very own. And here her mother was, trying to coo her to stop crying and it only made her want to cry even more. Everything her mother told her to do had always made her want to do the opposite. As if she could prove that she didn't need her mother's counsel. Maybe it had been the underlying fact that her mother wasn't exactly torn up about the Hand's death. In fact, she seemed as if she didn't care. A heart of stone did her mother have towards most men.

Steffon was not at her side for he decided to console their father. Consoling father meant drinking with him and letting him tell repeated tales of a life that was much grander and dearer to him; his past. Joanna could see how his eyes would glitter with warmth and merriment when he spoke of days of when he was young, the time before his rebellion. Her mind could also recall those memories when Steffon and herself were young, sitting around with Joffrey just a year younger in the middle of them. In a way, Joanna wanted to find him and comfort her father too, but her mother didn't want her around him while he was dousing his sadness with wine. It wasn't fair that she had let her twin go with no questions asked but she had stopped her.

"How can I not shed more tears?" Her eyes looked up at their mother, still swimming in pools of salty waters. They halfway closed upon the feel of her mother's hand, using a gentle brush of her thumb to wipe away one of the tears that fell.

"You know he would not want you to cry for him," she said, "he wouldn't want you nor your father to grieve in such a way. The best thing you can do, my little lioness, is to think of happy memories of him. He would want that from you instead." Joanna looked at her mother in thought before closing her eyes, thinking of what was told to her. There was something right about that and she could imagine Lord Jon Arryn telling her that he wouldn't want her to cry. In efforts to calm her heart, she sniffed and nodded with her mother's hand still cupping her face. "Plenty of people die. Will you shed tears for them all? All that will do is weigh down on you, sweetling."

Joanna would not cry for everyone but she'd cry about any death of the people she loved; her father, her mother, her brothers and sister, and her grandfather. If Uncle Jaime were to die, Joanna knew she'd shed tears for him too. Uncle Renly and even Uncle Stannis would have them as well. Some Lannisters, not all of them, would have a tear of hers. Now that she had thought about it, that was a lot of people, but was it so wrong to cry for them? To be sad that they were not of this world anymore? Maybe her mother had been right. Mother was always right.

Her will was weak for now and so she decided to agree with her queen mother. Her mother's smile was a warm one, but it was odd in some ways though. Maybe it was because Joanna had always gave into her while her brother was another story entirely. It was clear how much her mother loved them all, but the only one that was disobedient to an extremity was Steffon. He always fought with her, never accepting her words upon first listen. He always wanted proof or just didn't outright believe. Joanna could recall her mother saying "Steffon is a Baratheon to the bone. It worries me more than it angers me." Since her parents always argued with father halfheartedly listening, it was easy to believe why her brother inherited his recalcitrant ways.

The eldest Baratheon girl felt her body be pulled forward, face burying itself in her mother's shoulder with long and slender arms around her. There were warm strokes to her small back with love in each one. It always felt like a spell to her when her mother did this because she had a hard time remaining sad whenever her mother held her this way.

"Mother," Joanna spoke softly, pulling away from the embrace to gaze up at her mother's eyes.

"Yes?" With a smile, Cersei rubbed the side of her head, eyes scanning her daughter's own.

"May I go see father now?" It was one thing she was adamant about now. Joanna wanted to see her father and offer him words of consolation. She wanted him to smile because of her too. He might be drunk off his horse now but that still didn't bar her from wanting to help him. It should've been Steffon and her both making father happy in such a sad time for him. Her mother may have not loved her father and didn't care that he was hurting, but Joanna loved him. She loved him fierce just as much as she loved her mother and she wanted to be there for him.

With a sigh, one that seemed to let out all the air she had in her lungs, Cersei gave a rather stiff nod. "Go see him, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Father is always drunk." That made her shoulders shrug and it made her mother's eyes narrow. When Joanna noticed how her mother was looking at her, she wondered if she shouldn't have said that. The sight of a small smile that came after that rather scary silence reassured her otherwise.

Giving her mother another embrace, Joanna hurried out of her mother's chambers to go look for her father. Her hands clung on tight to her skirts, her bottom lip being bitten as she was making her way to her father's study. The Red Keep wasn't large enough for one to get lost in entirely, but sometimes Joanna had been scattered-brained and forgotten certain ways. Joanna wasn't all that adept at learning the layout of her home. What reason would there be now at seventeen when she would soon be wed? She'd have to learn of that home for the rest of her life.

A few turns, down some steps, and through a dimly lit hall, she finally found her way to her father's studies to see her Uncle Jaime guarding the door. He noticed her as soon as she neared him and gave her a half smile when his eyes laid on her. "Little Cersei," Joanna never told him how much she hated to hear that. She had a feeling that he sort of knew but did it anyway for kicks, that is. "You've come to see your father?"

Her eyes looked down meekly as she gave the slightest of nods. "Yes, Uncle." Forcing herself to find the courage to look up at him, her eyes were big and filled with just a slice of regret. "Is he occupied? I could come back in an hour or more."

"That isn't necessary." His golden-haired shined in the sunlight from the window across them as he inclined his head towards the door. "He's able to see you." But before his hand reached for the handle, she blinked twice and gazed up at him since he had more to say. "Though he's a bit drunk, you sure you want to see him?"

"I'm sure." With a smile, she wrinkled her nose some at the thought of her father's belly filled with wine. He'd be quite a mess to talk to but she wanted to do it anyway. "Thank you for warning me, though. I assure you mother already did."

Not at all surprised, just a little more intrigued by her determination, he shrugged his shoulders and opened the door wide for her. "My King, your daughter requests an audience with you."

Peeking through the open door, she saw her father, the King, sitting at his desk with his thick, calloused hand wrapped around a chalice. It was being filled profusely by Lancel, her father's squire and her cousin. "Let her come in." She smiled at this, seeing as his eyes lit up upon the sight of her. "There's my little girl, though not so little anymore."

Once her uncle closed the door, she sauntered her way to the guest seat at her father's desk and smoothed down her skirts before she sat. Her father roughly waved Lancel away, making him flinch some and awkwardly take a few steps back with the wine bottle in his hand. "Father, I'm here to tell you that I give the deepest of condolences about Lord Arryn. He was like a father to you and like a grandfather to me." Joanna lowered her head, the sadness coming back to her in waves. "I'll miss him dearly."

Her father gazed at her rather somberly before flicking his eyes back to his full goblet. He tilted it towards her, spilling only a few drops in the process, in honest offering. "Do you want some? It helps wash away the pain."

"No," Joanna added a shake of her head to her refusal, smiling nonetheless. She couldn't handle her liquor and got drunk from one cup. It left her daft, woozy, and easily moved to tears. Joffrey would constantly make fun of her little tolerance for it and call her a baby despite her being older than him. He even gone as far to say that she might as well be Tommen's age due to her lack of self control from just a few sips.

"He adored you," her father said, eyes lost in nostalgia as if he was seeing the memory before him. "He said you were like a granddaughter to him." Her heart ached at these words. It should've made her happy to know it, but she would've preferred to have known that before he passed. Joanna could tell herself that she always knew he cared for her when he was still alive but it wasn't the same. It never would be. "Jon always thought you and Steffon had good heads on your shoulders, which I don't get, seein' as you have some terrible parents."

His laughter made her smile stay despite how empty it was. Was her father that deep in a world of self-pity? Maybe so. Her father never looked kindly about himself; he always talked about how he never listened to reason until it was a little too late. There were many of things she admired about him and many of things she didn't and his drinking habits was the first on the list. "I do not think he'd be happy about you drinking like this, Father, but I won't stop you."

She could tell her words did have some impact, the smile made it clear. She was sure her father grew tired of everyone's suggestions, such as for him to grieve in ways they deemed acceptable but not her. Joanna felt like her father would pull himself together in his own way. Although there was some things that needed to be rectified quickly, she was sure he would do right. Maybe during their trip of Winterfell, her father might make a sound decision.

"Are you excited about going to the North, little one?" After taking a large gulp of his wine, he bothered to ask her that. She didn't want to tell him her true answer, however. She really did not want to go; the North was cold and the South was warm. The people of the North were strangers to her and she already had to grow use to all these years of remembering faces and names of people she weren't particularly fond of in King's Landing. Steffon seemed more excited than she did and she never understood why. Steffon was more charismatic than her then he let on; adventurous too. He was probably tired of these familiar walls and the comfort of the South.

The North was governed by her father's best friend and so she knew that insulting the frigidness of the country as well as whining about it would only frustrate him. He never enjoyed when her mother nagged, so Joanna knew better than to do it. With a silent prayer to the Seven, she nibbled on her bottom lip before speaking, "I suppose." Her voice lacked emotion and she nearly cringed because of it.

"You suppose?" His brow raised in question and she wanted to kick herself. Lying was too much of a difficult task for her. Joanna constantly needed to work on it or else she'd be forced to be honest at all times.

"Well, I'm nervous more than anything." That much was true and she could give him that. "So many people to meet and it's cold."

Her father laughed, "It's just a bit nippy and Ned's family will be warm like ours." For some reason, she doubted that. No family could be like theirs. "Or are you more worried about impressin' Ned oldest boy?"

"What?" Her eyes widened some, making her resemble a doe in the evergreen forest. It was as if she heard the slightest sound and it made her completely quiet; rigid to the bone. "He has a son my age?"

The drunk blushing face of the King kept his silly grin, giving her a nod. "A boy named Robb. He named the boy after me." Taking another swig of his drink, he remembered Ned telling him the news of Robb's birth. That was during the time of the rebellion, around the same time Steffon and Joanna were born.

All she could recall was seeing Lord Eddard once and his long face with the tiniest smile as he called her "a pretty little thing". She was smaller back then, she knew, but she never seemed to forget that. He was young too at that time and that made her wonder what he must've looked like now. She had no idea he had a boy the same age as her and Steffon, though. Now she felt even more nervous.

"It is about time that you get married." Frozen. Joanna felt entirely frozen by the statement. It was the truth, she should've been given a husband when she first bled but her mother never liked all the men her father suggested. Now it was Robb, but she was sure her mother would deny it. She knew very well her mother did not like the Starks and was not a damn bit excited about this trip either.

"How about some more wine, Father? Your cup is almost empty." Maybe if her father drank until he blacked out, he would forget about arranging a marriage between herself and Robb Stark.


	2. To the Heart of the North

_**JOANNA**_

The sea breeze couldn't tame the heat that dwelled in King's Landing. The South was always warm, even more so when it was Summer or so she heard from the septas and maesters. Here she was, trying not to suffer from a heatstroke as she was standing still like a porcelain doll while the seamstresses worked. They pinned, stitched, and rewove the parts that needed to be loosened and tightened, as well as added new designs. It's such a minuscule task, but all their hard work would keep her warm when they reached the Neck and into the heart of the North. The only relief was having her hair pinned up so that her neck could feel the coolness of the gentle wind. However, when the cool air skimmed across the skin of her neck, she felt a slight tickle and was unable to control the laughs that escaped her.

"Don't move, Princess."

Joanna immediately regretted her lack of self-control, her eyes widening like when a child is being lectured. She lowered her eyes meekly, "My apologies…" She could practically hear her mother's scolding … 'They are below you Joanna'. This is what her mother would've said, if she caught her daughter looking down at her feet and being apologetic to seamstresses. Cersei would've been infuriated at such a sight because Cersei Lannister is not docile and only finds such a trait adorable in children, not when nearly a man or woman grown.

Joanna hadn't lost her rather childish comportment. She did not have the Lannister fierceness as her mother wore, like it was her very own skin. Joanna was still coming into her own or so she believes because she wants to believe she'll become better. _Stronger._

"Even the breeze tickles her," said one of the seamstresses, but she spoke more in fondness than she did in irritation. "It's a wonder how we are to prepare a good half of these dresses for her."

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Joanna couldn't help but feel embarrassed. "My apologies again. I promise I won't move or rather, I promise I won't laugh again while you work."

"Nonsense!" The eldest woman spoke up, eyes briefly glancing at her with a taste of warmth. "Hearing you laugh, My Princess, eases us. The days have been lacking color since Lord Arryn has passed, but it is your smile that reminds us that there are reasons—small as they may be—worth being happy for."

Her cheeks flushed at that, feeling thankful that she could put some people to ease or even give them happiness with such a simple gesture as a smile. It wasn't every day you lose such a figure like Lord Arryn and so people were taking this a little close to heart. He was kind, fair and was such a huge and memorable force in the eye of the storm that was the rebellion. Her father did not claim the throne alone. It was people like Lord Arryn, Lord Ned Stark, Lord Hoster Tully, her grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister, and her eldest uncle Ser Jaime, that shaped Westeros to what it is now with her father at the forefront.

Joanna, herself, was surprised at how she was coping with the loss. She cried her heart out for the first two days but managed to pull herself back together in order to prepare for departure. A princess must be strong, she told herself like a mantra; _"Be strong, Joanna. Be a lioness. A lioness does not tremble. A lioness does not let grief overwhelm her."_ She would tell herself that before bed and again in the morning, hoping that such words would give her the power to be as strong as her king father and her queen mother.

Raising her head, her eyes looked up from the pedestal and back at herself in the mirror. Her green eyes inspected the dress with wonder and contentment. It was of Lannister gold with threading of Baratheon black. Joanna never ignored either House unlike her twin. He wore Baratheon colors and very seldom did he wear the Lannister gold for it was often that he preferred the red. Her golden hair did not take kindly to too much black. Her skin was too pale and it made the color consume her. She's too much of a Lannister in appearance. The Stag hides in her.

Three raps to her door brought her out of her thoughts, and her lips made the biggest smile, since she knew by the melody of the knocks who came to see her. Joanna turned her head to one servant that stood idly with a pillow of needles and pins for the seamstresses; "Let them enter," she said. Her servant nodded in reply, and Joanna watched as she quickly placed the pillow back on the sofa to obey her. Once they opened the door, she bows her head respectfully to Joanna's youngest uncle, Lord Tyrion.

"Joanna," her uncle called her name in a fond voice as he walked in.

"Uncle Tyrion," Joanna greeted him before whispering to the seamstresses, letting them know she wished to speak with him alone. They bowed their heads before taking their materials and equipment before leaving. Once they left the room and it was just the two of them, Joanna stepped down from the pedestal and knelt to the floor, wrapping her arms around her uncle for an embrace.

She felt his small hand pat her back as he returned it tightly. "It hasn't been that long since I left you, niece," he said once she pulled away. "It has only been two months to be exact." Her smile broadened, her head lowering shyly.

"I'm not quite used to you being gone for that long, Uncle. Your face is very familiar to me." It sounded silly and it also made her sound needy. Wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, she decided to ask him a very obvious question. "What brings you here to see me? Are you here to apologize for missing Steffon and I's name day celebration?" She rose a curious brow and yet she could not control her face to be so serious. She was not angry that he wasn't there, but his presence was missed. Her grandfather wasn't there either for he had business to tend to as Lord of Casterly Rock and Paramount of the West.

"That's precisely why I am here, sweet niece." Tyrion smiled as he spoke while her head fell into a curious tilt. "I have presents for you and Steffon, who should be on his way here as I spoke to him in the library. This gift isn't solely mine but from your grandfather mostly." Joanna nodded, halfway understanding, but for the most part was still very much confused. "Also, do you know why your brother is suddenly interested in the free cities, Joanna?"

"He told me he wants to learn how to deal with foreign cities and leaders, and to do so he must learn more of their history first," she answered him, recalling a conversation that both she and Steffon shared when she found him in the library more than usual. Joanna was usually the one to hide away in there for what could a princess do other than read? A princess cannot fight or so her mother often instills in her … _"When I was young, I used to wish I were a boy and be able to wield the sword as Jaime does. I understand how it must feel unfair to you, Joanna, but women play their parts just as strongly as men do. You don't need a sword, my little lioness. You need a strong mind."_ That's what her mother told her when she was young and playing imaginary games of being Visenya Targaryen and pretending to wield Dark Sister. "My brother takes his title as Crown Prince very seriously, Uncle."

His brow raised, making him look proud and curious. She had no doubts that Tyrion would not make it his mission to better understand how her brother planned to improve foreign relations with Westeros and the Free Cities. Four knocks were upon her door this time and she knew it to be Steffon since he had his own signature style as well. Joanna raised herself to her feet as she uttered her "enter" so that her brother could walk in.

Steffon resembled their father the most, so much so that sometimes her mother felt like she was being haunted by a younger version of their father. His hair was long and black, so he pulled it into a low ponytail because he says it is troublesome when it is loose. He refuses to cut it because he wants to emulate the grandfather they never met. Sometimes Joanna wonders if Steffon believes he must be like their grandfather because he shares the burden of such a strong name. It is a name their father holds like it is the sun and being golden to their father is a mission all the Baratheon children have engraved in their hearts. Steffon and Joffrey, however, have such a need worse than anyone else.

Her twin gave her a small smile before kissing the crown of her head once he was close enough. He was so tall now, inheriting their father's stature. It seemed so strange that she had to look up at her own brother. "You've pulled me from research, Uncle." Steffon had took a seat at the small table, Joanna quickly joining his side as their uncle took the seat opposite of them. Before his interrogation, he gave her a quiet question with his eyes, to ask her what was going on. All she did was shake her head since she still didn't know her uncle's agenda.

Steffon and Joanna always communicated without words, reading each other's expression and minds like it is next to nothing. It was how they usually get themselves out of so much trouble, but even that backfired on them once in a while. Joffrey loathed it because he always thought they're sharing some sort of inside joke about him or that they're excluding him from things. Joffrey was such a tattletale when he was young, so they had to form another language for just the two of them in order to not be punished half of the time.

"Now that you're both here…" Tyrion's eyes looked right at the pitcher of wine that sat at the centre of the table and slowly smiled, mostly out of relief. Pulling a chalice towards him, he poured himself some of the Dornishwine. "I was quite parched," he went on to say, "I traveled by sea and I truly regret it."

Folding his arms, her dark-haired twin hitched a brow. "Why would you drink when you get sea sickness?" He was genuinely curious as was she. If you knew your weakness, why would you play into it? Not only that, Joanna placed a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh because she kept picturing her uncle with a cup of wine in one hand while the other was holding still the bucket of bile.

As if he had no way to making up some witty response, he pointed at her brother with the cup in his hand. "You have a point, Nephew." he said rather reluctantly. "But nothing can stop me from drinking. Not even sea sickness." After stating what proved to be the obvious before taking a lingering swig, Tyrion placed the chalice back on the smooth and wooden surface of the table. "Back to why I'm here…" Clearing his throat, Joanna was glad to know her curiosity would finally be satiated. "How about a little history lesson?" His eyes looked back and forth at them both. "What do we Lannisters keep in the cages of Casterly Rock?"

"The lions," Steffon immediately answered without eagerness, as he just states what every Lannister should know. "And they've done that for centuries until lions became fewer and fewer in the Westerlands."

"That is correct!" Tyrion nodded. "And who was the first King of the Rock?"

"Loreon Lannister I," both twins answered, speaking in unison as they did often. Whether it was a twin thing or by pure coincidence was difficult to figure out.

With another nod, Tyrion's lips formed a smile. "And what did he have as pets that began the tradition your grandfather intends to keep?"

"He keeps the lions, even though great-grandfather Tytos nearly died because of one." Joanna nodded as Steffon spoke the answer. "Strange though, you would think because of that and because Loreon's own sons were said to be slain by lions, that we would not keep such animals in Casterly Rock anymore." She nodded again, agreeing with him, seeing the point he was making. "But I don't understand where you're going with this, Uncle. What does all of this mean?"

"Impatient," he quipped. "Just like your father." Taking another sip of the Dornishwine he loved, he kept on talking. "Baratheon to the bone you are, Steffon, which is why I fail to understand why your grandfather thought it right for such presents."

Joanna began to feel her own patience wearing thin. _Please, Uncle, tell us your point_ was what she wanted to say but it would be wrong and rude. So she kept it in her head just as she does everything else she thinks wrong and rude to be vocal about.

"But this isn't something I can simply tell you, I have to show you." Tyrion, with some minor difficulties, had gotten down from the chair and went towards the door, looking left before spotting who he wanted when he looked right. He motioned for the person in the hall to come over as Joanna and Steffon looked at one another again.

"Don't ask me," Steffon told her. "I have no idea what's happening just as much as you do." He read her so quickly and clearly that it made her frown.

When their uncle returned, a man came trailing behind them with two small cubs trotting alongside his feet. Joanna's eyes went wide as a smile grew large on her face. "If the Starks can raise direwolves, what is to stop a Lannister from raising great lions? At least, that is what your grandfather thinks." Tyrion rolled his eyes, sounding like he wasn't buying what their grandfather was selling to them.

"We're not Lannisters, Uncle." Steffon told him sharply, blue eyes carefully watching the lion to the man's left. He was more curious of that than the one to the right, who seemed guarded and unsure about its surroundings. Wondering if handling a young lion was the same as handling a kitten, Joanna reached her hand out to the cub and observed the animal with curiosity.

"Your life's blood still has Lannister within it, Steffon." Tyrion's demeanor had become much more serious. "Even if the name should differ, you are still a part of your grandfather's legacy. The man holds his name and this family's history clutched tight to his chest. If he heard you now, I suppose you would've been lectured from dawn to nightfall and back again."

Once she believed the lion had taken to her, Joanna had scooped the white-haired lion into her arms and held it securely. It did not flee nor did it fuss, but rather accepted her affection with such ease. It made her wonder if it knew she'd protect it and keep it safe. Would it be strange to say she was already in love with it? Joanna spun to her brother, unable to break her smile, "Let's keep them, Steff. Baratheon we are, but Lannister are what we are as well." Not only that, Joanna was more Lannister than she was Baratheon unlike her brother. How could she deny this gift when the little cub was too much like herself? Young and naïve.

 _ **STEFFON**_

Crisp and cold was the air of the North. Such a feeling was entirely new to him since the South only knows warm air and constant sun. Steffon found even the littlest of things in foreign territory fascinating, especially since he was eager for this trip. He was probably the only one besides his father and Uncle Tyrion that was eager about this trip. What was there not to be eager about? They would get to see the infamous castle that sat in the heart of the North. A castle whose first stone was laid by Bran the Builder. Just knowing that alone, who wouldn't be interested in seeing it? Of course, he could name a few from the top of his head that didn't share his excitement: his mother, Joanna, his Uncle Jaime, and his little brother Joffrey. All of them had one reason or another of why they didn't care for or like this trip.

Cersei didn't like the Starks and nor did she like the North for she deemed it a frigid wasteland. His Uncle Jaime didn't seem to care for the Starks either and Steffon believed it had something to do with what happened when his uncle slayed the last Targaryen king. His little brother Joffrey? Well, he rarely likes anyone in the same manner as their mother. If the Starks would kiss his rear end, then maybe he'd come around. That's the only time he likes people. Joanna, on the other hand, had much more complicated reasons than all three of theirs. Her reasons were more sympathetic to him.

Since they were children, Joanna had always been frightened by changes. King's Landing was her home and the only place truly familiar, but the North? A Summer girl who has never known Winter should and would be truly uneasy about this place, especially since there were talks of a possible marriage between her and the eldest son of Ned Stark. Joanna only liked and needed routine; she was only comfortable around people she knew and loathed meeting new people. First impressions were important for her and she always never had the courage to be herself when she was to make them. Joanna has always berated herself for what she did or said, even if she was perfectly courteous. She was shy to a high degree near people she didn't know, he knew that more than anyone. He just never understood why, since there was no reason for a princess to be shy.

When it came down to the likely marriage, Steffon wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. For one, he didn't know Robb Stark enough to entrust him with someone as important or as sacred as his sister. Just knowing that the two of them would be ripped apart like this was a pain Steffon wasn't sure he wanted to endure. Nobody really understands how much twins rely on one another, especially when they had been together for the entirety of their lives. He had known her before he understood what life was and what it meant. They were womb-mates. Like how his uncle held his mother's foot, Joanna held his hand; she even continued to hold his hand in their bassinet together as they slept until their father deemed it unfit for the both of them to sleep in the same bed.

So how does a twin live happily knowing that the other was halfway across the country? While he knew that this would happen one day, that didn't mean he was prepared for it. That didn't mean he could ever be prepared for it. Joanna was the first person he ever knew. How could someone possibly say goodbye to a person like that?

Just the thought of going back to King's Landing without Joanna made him feel empty. It would feel like a great part of him was being ripped away and there was nothing he could do about it except endure and learn how to live without it. "What's got you thinkin' so heavily, boy?" His father's loud voice brought him back to reality, making the Baratheon prince nearly jump out the horse's saddle until he steadied himself. With one swift manoeuvre, he covered up his shock and ruminating face with controlled calm. Steffon always hid everything he knew or felt behind a controlled mask. As a boy, along with Joanna, he needed to quickly learn how to throw one's suspicion off instantly.

"Nothing much, Father." Keeping a steady grip on the reins, he answered with a lie that was convincingly innocent. King's Landing could make a good liar of any man or woman, save for his sister. "I'm just curious of Winterfell is all." There was truth in that, at least.

His father let out a chuckle, smiling as he spoke; "It's bigger than our home, I can tell you that." He made his horse move in a slow trot with Steffon's, letting them ride alongside each other to have a conversation between just the two of them, which could sometimes be a rare thing. "It's been nine years since I've last seen Ned," Robert reflected, eyes staring at the distance before them in deep thought. "Gods, I wonder if I'll even know who he is in a crowd anymore. How much has he changed, I keep thinking."

Steffon was more than just a bit envious of the friendship his father and Ned Stark had. It would've been a much more fulfilling life if Steffon had a best friend who he spent a great deal of time with. Those two, Robert and Ned, they did things boys and men dreamed of accomplishing; they were wards together, went to war and won together. Both of them had memories and inside jokes that only the two of them would know. All Steffon had was his sister and his other siblings. He wasn't ungrateful or unhappy, but sometimes he did wish for something more. He was always wishing for more yet as future King, he had to keep it all in, those dreams of his. He had expectations to live up to and the last thing he wanted was to be a failure to his father but to his House most of all.

"I'm sure he would probably feel the same about you, Father." Robert was albeit confused by his son's words, it was evident on his face with the way his brow arched and mouth curled in a curious line. Steffon kept his smirk before directly pointing his finger at his parent's ever growing belly; wine and meat was the true cause of that. "He'll be surprised at how fat you've gotten."

Robert gave out a hearty laugh and nodded his head. "I hope he got fat too!" Even if it was said out of jest, Steffon couldn't help but humorously think his father was seriously hoping that for the sake of his pride. The both of them laughed at the joke, the sounds of it filling the air and possibly annoying anyone who was close enough to hear it. He didn't care though for Steffon did hold a great deal of his love for his father. The relationship they had was completely irreplaceable and he hoped that this would always remain. It was times like these he couldn't help but treasure and hope to think back on them with hair dyed grey and a beard long. "But what do you think about me making your sister marry Ned's oldest boy?"

His blue eyes shared his father's inquisitive gleam and soon enough, he gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I'd like to get to know Robb Stark first." Steffon had been thinking about this since his sister told him about the possible marriage. He never told his father that he knew because Steffon had known he would bring it up eventually. "I think I can judge if he'd be a proper man to my sister. I've heard things about him, good things in fact, but hearing good things is different than seeing them." His eyes looked ahead but he caught the understanding nod his father gave. "But why do you want them to marry? Do you want to be bound by blood with House Stark? I think it's wise, but I'm curious of your real intentions, Father."

"Joanna is my precious girl, I wouldn't force her to marry the boy if she hated him." His father made clear. "But I will accept your judgement. You've always been a good judge of character, my son." Steffon beamed at that, he always glowed under his father's praises. "It is true; I do want us bound to the Starks by blood. If things had been as they should've, I would've married Lyanna, Ned's sister." Whenever he spoke of that woman, the jolly King would always take a much more sorrowful look to him. "You'd probably be a Baratheon-Stark if it weren't for that damn Rhaegar Targaryen."

At least he was glad to know that his father would've still wished for him to be his son, even if his mother was another. No matter how many times they were at odds, Steffon still loved his mother and he knew that Lyanna Stark did ruin what could've been a happy marriage between them. It wasn't Lyanna's fault, Steffon knew, but if she never existed then he might've known a childhood with two devotedly in love parents, he always thought. "No need to think of the past, Father, we're on our way to see the Warden and he doesn't need you sour."

"Haha," His laugh echoed. "That's true. Besides, I kill that bastard in my dreams every night, no need to think of him while I'm awake."

The silence that came was a heavy one, one that made Steffon lower his eyes in thought while his fathers were storming with unresolved anger. The grudge his father bared for Rhaegar and every Targaryen after all these years still burned much hotter than the pits of Seven hells. "It's also high time you get married too, son. I need some grandchildren, your future heirs. I want some little ones to bounce on my knees before my joints become shit."

"Before Lord Arryn died, he was trying to find me a suitable wife." Steffon's eyes closed halfway, a sad look coming across his blue eyes as he remembered the Lord of the Vale before his untimely death. "He gave me a lengthy list, and I will honor him by choosing one I know he'd find suitable to be a queen."

"And I hope you choose when the year is done, Steffon." Robert told him, his lips losing his smile and his face screwing up in a very stern look. "When the year is done and you are married, I'm going to step-down. That is when you will take the throne."

His eyes widened as far as they could possibly go as the words didn't sink into him just yet. They repeated over and over in his head to make him understand what his father just told him. "But Father…" the words trailed, not yet ready to take flight, "I can't be king. N-Not yet!" Being King is something that is his birthright, what he was born for and meant to do when Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister married. He was born to rule, to continue the Baratheon era after the Targaryens were nearly eradicated. "You don't possibly think I'd be ready for such a thing by year's end, do you?"

His father's hand grabbed his shoulder. "I see you fear the throne and that's a good thing, boy. I didn't fear it and look how I ended up. I'm a bloody drunk, who wastes away doing anything that he wants, halfway begging for an early grave. You, my boy, understand the pressures, but you also will know what needs to be done for the realm. I never wanted to be king, I just wanted the woman I loved back. I started the war for her and ended up not getting what I wanted. I even once thought that by being king I could do whatever I wanted, but I'm doing nothing that I want. I was meant to war and whore, that's what I'm good at. When I give you the throne and see your ass on it, I'm going to get me a ship and go to the free cities and do what I'm damn well good at it."

None of it had made sense and he was left dumbfounded with his heart racing at the idea of himself sitting on the Iron Throne so young. He wouldn't be the youngest king, but he'd still be a young man to rule the realm. Seven-and-ten and king? "Ned will be my hand for the year, but he will take care of you for as long as you see it fit. He's the only one I trust."

Steffon's blue eyes looked to his father, seeing that Robert meant every word. Swallowing all the fears that were bubbling inside him, he tried to reassure himself and his father with a smile. "If you see it fit, Father, it will be done."

"That's my boy." His king father clapped his shoulder, laughing as he did so, while Steffon tried to calm his racing heart. The road to becoming king had shortened by a long mile and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it still. That's the thing, really. Nobody is ever sure to rule. He, however, has to learn and that's all he ever can do.

"How about a race?" The Crown Prince offered, brow raised and smile set.

"Just because you're young doesn't mean you can beat me! I'm the bloody King for a damn good reason, boy!" His father dug his heels in his horse, moving on ahead. With a laugh and shake of his head, Steffon made his steed rush forward in efforts to catch up and out run. In the midst of their laughs, they could hear the Kingsguard yelling for them both to slow down.

 _ **JOANNA**_

There was nothing great about sitting in this royal wheelhouse. Joanna certainly wasn't fond of this ride and for many reasons too. It was uncomfortable first and foremost since it left one's backside completely sore. Second, she was forced to be away from her little Hrakkar that she named Calla since it reminded her of the flower. Third on her list, she was forced to look into the faces of her mother and siblings throughout the entirety of the ride. The only exceptions to not seeing their faces; are when they would stay at an inn or in the keep of a lord who wants to boast about having the royal family as guests in their homes. Then it would be back to seeing their faces or staring out of the window like a forlorn girl in some silly tale.

She loved her mother and siblings, dearly, but what Joanna wanted to do was walk with her feet in the grass or be on a horse's saddle, riding alongside her father and Steffon. It made her green with envy, when she heard the Kingsguard in such a commotion because the two of them had begun to race, making the cavalcade a mess for their own amusement. If only she could be there, besting the two of them. Joanna prided on her skills on horseback riding, that was one thing she was good at. Her mother would never approve such a thing though. In fact, the Baratheon princess could again hear her mother clear as day if such a thing should happen: _"A princess doesn't ride horses with wild abandon, sweetling."_ That would've grated on Joanna's nerves, and made her guilty all in the same, for being annoyed at her mother over well-known royal decorum.

For now, Joanna decided to be the forlorn girl. Her eyes spied the sight of birds flying south in the endless blue skies. Those birds were going where she wanted to and how she envied them. If only she had wings...

"Ugh," Joffrey scoffed, obviously annoyed by something, "why must they have a race now? I can barely hear myself think with the stupid Kingsguard making such a fuss."

Joanna always saw the looks her little brother would give since she knew them well because she felt the same. Joffrey was always jealous of the closeness of Steffon and their father, wishing he had father's undying approval. Steffon, after all, was the Heir Apparent and he would soon be married and have children, which would make it nearly impossible for Joffrey to ever sit on the Iron Throne. Her little brother wanted to be king so badly, and he never made it less than known. "We're almost there," their mother tried to soothe his irritation, "by then your father will be more responsible."

Their father? Responsible? Both Joanna and Joffrey shared a look of disbelief at their mother, and even rolled their eyes in unison to look back out the windows. They knew very well that she was lying, but Cersei always considered him her "golden boy". She would tell him anything to alleviate his pain or anger, even at the costs of others at times too. "The day Father becomes responsible is the day I shit Valyrian steel," he mumbled this but Joanna heard him loud and clear. Her father meant the world to her just like her mother did, but she was not blind of either one of their flaws as much as people think she is. They were much too big to just simply ignore.

Tommen and Myrcella began to giggle at Joffrey's remark, and only stopped with a pointed look from their queen mother and went back to sitting silently like the dolls they were. Joanna glanced over at them, smiling as she observed them trying to behave like proper little things. They had no idea how miserable this trip was making her feel, but she knew Myrcella would one day have her share of this pain. She too would marry; venture to some foreign place they knew nothing of. She would never marry for love; a naïve but romantic dream that every high-born and true-born girl craved. They didn't crave marriage exactly, but the right to choose what and who they wanted.

"There will be no usage of such language in the presence of children, Joffrey." Cersei warned, eyes narrowing in such a way that made him completely obey. Joffrey was always attached to her like she was, and both of them sought the approval that Steffon undoubtedly had with their father. Like she thought before, it amazed her that Joffrey was not her twin at times, but then she'd remember his nasty tempers and his strange almost gleeful satisfactions from torturing animals. Just the thought made her outright shiver and make her even more glad that they didn't share a womb. It made her think that she could've inherited his cruel streak in the process.

"Are you still cold?" her mother asked, obviously worried and ready to tend to her every need. Her mother was very affectionate, always catering, and it only served to make Joanna hate her own dependence on her. There was a chill in the air yet it wasn't really noticeable to her due to her heavy furs.

Joanna shook her head with a pleasant smile, "I'm fine, Mother." How could she tell her mother that the actual shiver was caused by her absolute fear over Joffrey's, their mother's golden boy, sometimes awful behavior. "The furs you gave me are more than enough." She settled, trying to lie as good as Steffon, she hoped it worked.

It didn't. Well, it did end up working in her favor somewhat.

"I know this trip must trouble you." The princess watched her hands being gathered by her mother, they instantly felt warmed as she cupped them but she dreaded this conversation. "Just remember, your father is only thinking of such a betrothal. I will not give you away to those Starks, not now or ever."

Although Joanna wanted to believe her mother and even smiled as if she did, her mind couldn't help but think that this was not a battle that Queen Cersei could win.

 _ **ROBB**_

Like any other morning, the air was cold. You could see one's breath when they spoke or when they breathed, but this wasn't out of the norm for the Starks. Winter was in their blood and Winter is the season that they thrived. Summer may have not left them yet, but the North knows no other weather but frigid cold. The courtyard was filled, everyone waiting for the royal family to come through the gates of the castle with their cavalcade. He was not nervous like his mother was, who would have to work to keep the royal family warm and welcomed as any Lady of a House must do with those who temporarily stay in her halls.

The gates finally opened and a great many people were being let in. Robb eyed the many faces of the many soldiers, squires, and whoever else that came with them. Prince Steffon came first from the royal family, looking more like a young king than he expected. His eyes did not hold themselves back from looking around at his new surroundings, inspecting and marvelling at anything he could lay his eyes on. He was a rather tall, even while a-horse. His little sister gasped when she saw him, eyes holding their dreamy gaze while Arya looked more intrigued than she did infatuated.

Next came Prince Joffrey, flanked with Kingsguards on either side of him, and undoubtedly stealing his sister's attention from the Crown Prince. He took note of their staring since it was mutual between the two of them. Robb looked back and forth in a way that only a protective, older brother would do. Next was the Queen's wheelhouse, which he assumed held the youngest prince and both princesses inside.

In all honesty, Robb was disappointed in the current state of the King as he knelt before him. He met the man once when he was a little boy and he had been the true vision of what a King should look like back then, but now? The man was out of shape, no longer that fierce warrior that took down Rhaegar Targaryen with his war-hammer, at what is now called the Ruby Ford during the Battle of the Trident. This was the man he was named after; he couldn't help but think. He hoped the name didn't mean you'd look like the animal you like to hunt; which King Robert's favorite were boars.

When the king got off his horse, walking over to his father and telling him to rise with his hand (which made everyone else in Winterfell do as well), Robb watched the serious expressions they gave one another, "Your Grace." His father bowed his head, showing the respect to King and not the closeness of lifelong friends.

The King's observing eyes never wavered, just staring away at his father before he uttered, "You got fat!" Now that was enough to make Robb want to laugh but he kept his face hard and serious, just watching his father's reaction. All the Lord of Winterfell did was inclined his head and give a pointed look to the man's own stomach, which made Robb want to smirk.

It didn't surprise anyone when the two laughed and hugged, it was expected. Now that the playful, fake tension wore off, he looked away from his father and the king for a moment to stare at the wheelhouse. Nobody left it yet, which made him wonder why they were taking so long. They didn't know how anxious he was, how he was waiting, waiting for what could possibly be either bliss or doom. In the middle of his staring, however, he felt a pair of eyes nearly burning holes in him. His eyes glanced to his left to see that it was Prince Steffon, staring at him, judging him from what Robb could tell. The Winterfell heir was not at all offended, he shared the same look to Joffrey for his sister Sansa. Prince Steffon was probably sizing him up since his mother slyly mentioned the king had a daughter his age.

Robb was unsure of what to make of such information except that his mother had marriage in mind for him. As much as he loved his parents, he would resent them if they forced him to marry a woman he didn't know or love. He wanted a marriage for love, not politics. Their family was well supplied with everything: loyal Northern houses and to the crown, and everything else that should matter to them. Neither he nor his family needed anything else. So he should be able to marry someone he loved and of his own choosing.

The wheelhouse came to a halt and the doors of it were finally opening. Robb held his breath as he watched with steady focus. The first to leave was the youngest prince, Tommen, a blond-haired boy with a round face. The second was the youngest princess, Myrcella, curly hair of blonde and pale. She was as skinny as Arya, but looked more gentle than his little sister could muster to be. The third was, who he knew without a doubt, was Princess Joanna. One of the Kingsguard had helped her down the steps as she gathered the end of her skirts and from the movement of her lips, he could tell she gave the man thanks despite it being his job. For someone known to be so meek, she didn't seem like it at all with perfect posture and regal strides.

The golden haired princess held her diamond-shaped face high with dignity, but she did not have that formidable presence about her. Royalty was supposed to have a commanding presence, one that made you want to kneel so quickly. The Crown Prince had such a demeanour and even the King despite his state and yet the princess did not have that. She seemed more genial than the boldness she was trying to wear. The Queen, who was the last to be escorted out of the wheelhouse, reached for Joanna's hand to give it a squeeze and leaned in to whisper words in her ear. It made Robb wonder just what the queen was telling her. Possibly, "this might be your future home" or "how do you like the sight of Winterfell?" They were innocent questions on his part. He didn't know that the Queen would loathe everything about the North, including his family.

Robb barely noticed that the King walking towards him now until he was so close that it was impossible for Robb to ignore. "Who have we here?" he said, reaching his hand out for him to shake. "You must be Robb." Giving the King a firm handshake, Robb couldn't think of a single thing to say. His mind was blank; his heart was tight. He was relieved when the King moved down the line and began to speak to his siblings, asking for their names and even asking Bran to flex his non-visible muscles.

When the queen approached, Robb took the time to look the woman over. Joanna did look very much like her, more youthful though and her hair lighter. Even with time, Cersei Lannister still held her beauty. The king and his father walked their way to the crypts to pay respect, even though the queen tried to sway him not to. Robb knew why King Robert wanted to go there and he had a feeling that the queen most certainly did too. Maybe she resented his aunt because it seemed that no matter how many years have passed, King Robert still held his aunt dear to his heart.

Everyone was dispersing now, but Theon and Jon had stayed around and were blatantly staring away at him as if he didn't notice. He was watching Princess Joanna leisurely make her way towards her twin, speaking to him about something that he couldn't hear. Whatever it was, it made her brother laugh and her lips dipped down into a frown. "She's much prettier than the rumors say, don't you think?" Theon broke the silence, "Any man would be lucky to get married to that."

"Don't call her a that," Jon intervened, looking at Theon with annoyance, "she's the princess, not a _that_."

"You know what I meant, Snow," said Theon, looking every bit as aggravated himself. Robb didn't bother to disperse the argument as he usually did. Robb grew tired of playing mediator sometimes and so he remained silent. His eyes hadn't torn themselves away from the Baratheon twins, who eagerly made their way to a cart, looking to retrieve something that must've been precious.

"What are they doing?" Robb asked, unknowingly ending the argument with just that question. Both Theon and Jon turned their heads, looking in the direction his eyes were gazing it, sharing his curiosity. The both of them watched the Heir Apparent, walk towards one of the wagons and open a cage. Robb thought it to be their pets, possibly a dog or even a cat. What he didn't expect, however, were two little lion cubs to be picked up into both of the twins arms.

Instead of arguing, they could at least share his curiosity.

Jon and Theon turned to look in his direction, eyes watching as Steffon opened what looked to be a cage. What came out were two white lion cubs, who seemed rather pleased to be let out of captivity. "Are those…" Theon hadn't finished his sentence, almost like he was too surprised to.

"They're lions," Jon said, "but they're not ordinary lions. I've never heard of lions with white fur."

"Foreign lions then." Theon folded his arms. "You Starks have your direwolves and they have their lions. I suppose I should find me a kraken then."

"I'd like to see you jump in the ocean and try, Greyjoy." Jon didn't hold back as Robb couldn't help but let the laughter take over him. Theon's eyes were burning with a glare as they looked at Jon and Robb was half tempted to turn and see his best friend's angry face. His eyes, however, could not look away from the royals as they tended to their lion cubs just as he and his siblings tended to their direwolves.

As if she felt him staring, Joanna green eyes lifted up from the lion and up at him. Robb grew nervous, mostly because she was well aware that he had or was looking at her now. He halfway didn't know what to say or what to do because how can you explain yourself for staring? The blonde girl gave him a small, shy smile and looked away, looking up at her twin to speak some words he could hardly make out from her lips alone.

He was a bit startled as Joanna linked arms with her brother and the two of them began to walk towards them. Keeping a cool front, he kept himself aloof but giving a less than forced smile once they were up close. Out of courtesy, Robb bowed his head to which Steffon waved dismissively at. "My Prince," Theon and Jon said separately, the flow of each not at all together and of different tones. "My Princess."

"No need to be so formal," Steffon informed them, looking very much bothered by proper manners. His eyes then landed on Robb, hand extending out for a shake. "Robb, right?" Robb gave a sharp nod and gave a firm grip to the prince's hand before shaking.

Robb picked up how the prince seemed taken aback by the grip he gave him, but as a man, he would know that it was Robb assuring him of his strength. Steffon smirked and tightened his own grip as their handshake lasted a little longer than it should have. Robb finally pulled away, looking at Theon and Jon, who stepped forward for proper greetings.

As a proper lord, he reached his hand out to take Joanna's to properly lay a kiss upon it. She seemed uneasy as her lips parted in subtle surprise. Her eyes stared at his open, gloved hand for a minute's time before she rested her small and possibly cold hand atop of his. His lips pressed against the cold flesh of the back of her hand with just a simple peck so that her unease didn't grow. When he let go, he watched as she eyed him before giving him a rather shaky smile.

"And you're Theon Greyjoy," Steffon said, "the ward, right?"

"Sure am." With his usual lopsided grin, Theon was more than eager to shake Steffon's hand because it made him feel like the young lord he actually was. "It's not every day you meet a prince. Welcome to Winterfell."

"It's not every day you meet a Greyjoy either and so I'll take this as a rare gift for us to finally meet." Robb could see the pride in Theon's eyes at his words. Steffon had a way of making people comfortable, especially someone who was looked at as a hostage to many. Theon technically was still a hostage; a tool to keep Balon Greyjoy from ever causing another rebellion again. "And you must be Jon Snow." His eyes looked over to his brother, half-brother to be exact. Robb was waiting for an off the hand comment about his brother's status, but it never came, surprisingly enough. "It is nice to meet you as well."

Jon was just as shocked as he was, wide-eyed as the prince extended his hand to shake. It was a bit eager of him, but he returned the handshake with a small smile, and that made Robb less tense. Robb fixed himself to ask Joanna if she wanted a tour of Winterfell, but she spoke before the words could leave him. "As happy as I am to meet you all, I fear I'm tired from such long travels," she said, her smile rather forced and her half-lidded eyes to make it seem as if she was more tired than she actually was. "I will see you all in the Great Hall tonight." And just like that, she had left after sharing some words with her brother through whispers.

Steffon watched his sister leave and a sigh escaped him. "Forgive my sister, she's terribly shy. She's the kind of girl that likes routine and familiar places. It'll be a while before she warms to everything during our stay."

Robb gave an understanding nod before his head turned to look over his shoulder as the princess was suddenly flanked with handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting. She hadn't turned back to look at them, but Robb felt like he could sense that she was just as curious of him as he was of her.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you to all the reviews, faves and follows. They make me really happy and I give special thanks to HPuni101 for becoming my amazing beta and making this chapter perfect for you all. I am sorry thought that there wasn't much Joanna and Robb because I like to tease.

mpowers045: margaery is a very likely choice c; but so are a few others, really.

guest: thank you! i'm trying my best to be different, especially since i made two ocs. i can't believe it is canon that robert has bastard twins. sheesh, he has so many children and i just added another one since it's canon that the only child he and cersei had died. so, does that mean he has 18 kids? yeah, i think it does.

Cheeshead2000: thank you! i like how margaery seems like the number one choice for steff and because she deserves all the love the little rose should've gotten after what happened. i'm glad you say that because robb and jon are contenders, but robb just happens to be in lead at the moment.

WhatsGoingOn: your wish is my command. c:


	3. Fair is Kind

**_STEFFON_**

The feast did not spark any excitement in him since it would be like any other that he attended before. The only difference with this feast was that he was more than curious of the Stark family. After all, this would be potentially be the family by extension; the one his sister would be married into considering how Robb Stark was so much favorable in his father's eyes than out of the many suitors he could pair her with. It wasn't because Robb was a good person or because he thought it would be a suitable match that could benefit the crown. It all came down to the obvious fact that his father was desperate to make a marriage between two families that should've happened a decade and some time ago with himself and Lyanna Stark. It almost felt like his father was pushing his old dreams onto his sister and Steffon wouldn't allow it at the cost of Joanna's happiness. No matter how strongly his father might've felt about it, Steffon was sure he could convince his king father that had he found this idea insufferable to his twin should he feel the need to.

First things first, he would need to know everything about Robb Stark. He would investigate him, send people around winter town to discover if the boy had often visit brothels. If the boy whored as much as Steffon's own father or even had a bastard or two, Steffon was going to make sure he knew about it. Second, he would speak to him more and what better way to know a man than to speak to him than to spar with him? Sparring brought out the best as well as the worst in people. Starks were said to be honorable, but sometimes honor was forgotten when it came to battles and desires. Ned Stark was living proof of that after siring a bastard son and bringing him under the roof with his wife that he betrayed. Third, he wanted to know of Lady Catelyn Stark. If the woman was to be his sister's good-mother then he would want to know the woman's temperament. Many women who didn't like their son's wives could be a lot to handle and his sister wasn't thick-skinned enough for that.

Naturally, Joanna should've been the one to investigate and not him, but the girl was lacking in that regard. She was too afraid, too unsure, and her confidence always wavered when she needed it most. As the oldest twin by four minutes and as her brother, Steffon would do the hard work. He just hoped that over this span of time during their visit and while their father sat on the decision of her marriage that she would steer her own path as well. Steffon couldn't do this forever. He couldn't protect his sister if she were to remain in the North and him remaining South. Even once he was king, he would have little time to dote and protect her. Joanna needed to learn how to protect and do for herself.

"Lord Robb is very handsome," Steffon stood in front of the door of his twin sister's guest bedchambers. He could tell from the voice alone that it was Myrcella. The protective brother in him snorted, wondering why his baby sister was interested in Robb Stark or finding and declaring him handsome. She was too young to be thinking of a man-grown in such a way. "Do you think father would make you two marry?" With his hand hovering over the handle, Steffon listened to what should've been a private conversation between sisters.

"He is handsome indeed." He heard Joanna say. Honest did she sound, but so did she sound hesitant. It was almost like she had not wanted to admit what she thought of him. "I have no doubt that father is considering it. Do you think I should marry him? Do you think I'll be happy here? …Won't you miss me?"

Myrcella hummed in thought, like she was carefully thinking of her words. As young as she was, she was quite smart. Her mother and father may have overlooked that trait, but she was sharper than the sweet girl they only saw her as. "Of course I would miss you," she finally answered, "but Lord Robb could be a good husband to you and you'll be happy and be the Lady of Winterfell when the time comes. You can have pretty lords and lady children and they'll be my nieces and nephews!"

His twin's laugh was hollow, lacking any mirth that should've been there. "I guess that's it, isn't it? Marrying and having little lords and ladies… It's never about what we want, isn't it? This pain… This fear… It will be yours someday too, Myrcella." The sudden quiet made the somber conversation dig a little bit deeper. "But I hope it is happy for you as you hope it is happy for me. If I must, I'd kill anyone that dares to harm my little sister."

"What do you mean, Joanna?" Before Joanna could answer, Steffon opened the door and let himself in. Joanna's hands were softly gripping onto their baby sister's shoulders, her eyes sad as she gazed up at him. "Steffon?" Puzzled, Myrcella turned to look at him with her green eyes filled with curiosity, "I thought you were going to the courtyard? Tommen hoped you'd help him because Joffrey says he wants to show the Starks who is the better sword in a match."

It seemed as if Joffrey was speeding the process of the spar himself, leaving Steffon to have a lesser workload. Still, Joffrey was no swordsman, at least not a good one. As troublesome most thought it to be, Joffrey was exceptionally skilled with the crossbow; his aim was top notch and he could work the the contraption quicker than anyone Steffon had ever seen. Where Steffon lacked in archery, Joffrey excelled at it. Well, in the less classic form that is. "He told Robb he wanted to spar?"

Myrcella nodded, not knowing that Joffrey had some haughty intentions for doing so. "Will you help Tommen? He'll have to spar with the young lord Brandon. They're making it into some sort of competition, I think. Like, winners and losers."

"Of course, Myrcella." She smiled because of his answer, like she was grateful of him for doing what he should as an older brother. Tommen was still young and his skills had to be nurtured, but their mother wouldn't allow such a little boy to practice much because she babied him more than she should. He was the youngest out of them all, so he couldn't fault her for such attachments. He was the last child she had and he had no doubt that if his mother wanted, she'd have another. "Could I speak to Joanna alone for a moment? I promise you'll have her all to yourself later."

As if she knew the conversation would be heavy, his baby sister looked at Joanna as if she wanted an okay that she should leave. Steffon couldn't help but scoff, wondering if this was their little sister trying to protect her much older one. Joanna nodded, a sweet smile on her lips as she spoke, "We'll get dressed together for the welcoming feast." That was enough to satisfy Myrcella, who beamed and nodded with such eagerness before one of the men of the Kingsguard walked alongside the little princess down the grey halls of Winterfell.

"Come to tell me that I'm acting like a whiny child, Steff?" Joanna asked him, her eyes looking despondently at her hands as she fiddled with her fingers. "I'm trying to be hopeful and I wonder if father is just really testing the waters with Robb and I."

Steffon took a seat by the fireplace where she sat, sinking comfortably onto the bench. It wasn't a luxurious piece of furniture, but it still did its job. "You are acting like a whiny child," he said, making her lower her head in shame, "but I don't condemn you. Marriage is…" not even he, himself, could put what such a union was into words, "marriage isn't like the stories we've read in books. How many songs have been sung to us of how people suffered in them? Look at our very own parents. How can we think there's anything worthy about a marriage when our own mother and father despise one another?"

He watched his sister sigh, looking like she was relieved that they shared the same fears. Their idea of what marriage was and was supposed to be were skewered because highborn nobles do not marry for love. They marry for gain. If you cannot gain nothing from the marriage then what was it? Vows said for love and only for it? How silly. Marriage is give and take between two families. Lowborn peasants got to marry whoever they wanted for love, for gain, and everything beyond and in-between. For them to be lessers, how come they did more of what they wanted than those rich and capable of obtaining everything? It didn't make sense.

"At least I can get to know the person I may marry." Joanna's hand reached out to hold his. "You don't know who our mother and father might decide for you. Lord Arryn was kind enough to try and let you choose, but who is to say your choice won't be overturned?"

Steffon's blue eyes gazed down at her hand before changing its position so that he could lace their fingers together. Her hold on his hand became tight after that, making him feel reassured by that gesture alone. He was the stronger sibling, physically and mentally; he was the one who had to do the protecting. He was the one who had to make sure things were alright, but Joanna comforts. She's the one who says the words that he needs to hear. If he ever married, he would like his wife to have that ability too.

"On the top of Lord Arryn's list, he wrote the two he thought more of a powerful match." he eyed her for a few minutes before looking around the bedchambers of the guest apartment. "He's considered heavily on the the Tyrell girl; the Lady Margaery. He highly considered Princess Arianne of House Martell as well."

"The Dornish princess?" His sister reeled back, surprise written all over her face. "But father hates the Martells. He hates them because they were Targaryen loyalists and there are rumours that they remain so with the ones across the Narrow Sea."

"I believe Lord Arryn thought to use me to see their loyalty," he replied, staring blankly ahead at nothing in particular, "if they were to refuse me then we must declare Dorne a traitor to the crown." His blue eyes slowly looked to the worried green that belonged to his sister. "If they accept then we are able to trust that their loyalty is ours."

"I see," Joanna practically whispered, "so you must use yourself as bait to see where they stand." Steffon nodded, confirming her words. "That isn't fair…"

"Fair is kind, Joanna, but fair is not enough." That was something Lord Arryn would say, he thought. "The plan is a smart one and a useful one should I feel the need to use it." Despite hating how he would have to use himself as pawn, he knew that if it had to be done then he must do it. Dorne was strong and it had taken many years for Dorne to be conquered and too many people died to see it remain part of the Seven Kingdoms. "Elia Martell was supposed to be Queen herself with Rhaegar Targaryen the King, but look how that ended… Do you think they have given up their taste to hold the crown again? House Martell has been quiet for too long and we must watch them."

"But at your expense?" Her hold had gotten tighter, almost to the point that she was using nearly half of her strength. "That isn't fair, Steffon. What if the woman is insufferable? I hear that she's beautiful, extremely so, and she's known to captivate many but…" Joanna bit her lip, inching deeper and deeper in her fears as she spoke them. "But her being beautiful doesn't mean anything. What if she marries you and tries to kill you? What if she tries to kill father or hurt our family since she'll be so close to us? What if she schemes to puts that Targaryen man on the throne? Surely they'll try to reap vengeance for the horrors that happened to Princess Elia. It could all be a ploy."

In her panic she was so smart, smarter than she realized. He found himself smiling, marveling at all the potential she harbored to be such a moving force, but her kind and shy heart had stopped her from being that. "We'll never know unless we deal the hand." He told her quietly with enough bass in his voice to tell her that nothing could change anything and that arguing about it was futile. Joanna's green eyes only looked at him with pity, pity he would accept from no one else but her.

"Tell me, sister." Leaning against the right side of the chair, Steffon had let go of her hand so that he could use it to prop up his head with a fist under his chin. "Have you gathered a thought of Robb Stark yet since you saw him last or are you going to continue to avoid him?"

Like a frightened cat, Joanna jumped in her seat and nearly out of her skin. She behaved as if she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to, exposing him to the truth he already surmised. Steffon shook his head and sighed, "No…" she answered softly, clearing her throat and making her voice more audible, "I told myself I would try at the feast tonight."

With a nod, he looked over at her to see her giving him a small smile. "What?" He asked.

"I'm just happy that you're my brother." Joanna looked at him with eyes that were full of warmth but borderline sad. She was supposed to be grateful and yet she looked as if she was ready to tear at any minute. "I don't know where I would be without you."

He took her closest hand in both of his, "You really are still a child."

Her smile quickly turned into a pout, proving his point even further. "I am not…"

"Children pout, dear sister." He watched her quickly pull her hand away from him, making him laugh as she did her best not to fold her arms. It would've been a full tantrum had she done it and so she tried to gracefully place her hands neatly folded in her lap to appear mature. "Amazing," Steffon teased, "such a lady you are."

"Leave." Wrinkling her nose, she looked down at the Hrakkar cub at her feet and picked the little lioness up and let Calla lounge across her lap. "Where is Loreon?"

"He likes to wander off," Steffon answered, "when he goes to new places, he likes to know the territory. I just hope he doesn't try to claw at one of the direwolves."

"You're such a careless owner." Joanna scolded him while her fingers were gliding through the soft fur of her lion. He could hear the wild cat purring under her touch from where he stood. "You need to watch him more. You musn't let him do what he wants or else he'll be harder to tame. Grandfather told us that."

"He also said not to spoil them, but I see you aren't following his advice either." He quipped back, watching her cut him a glare before looking back down at Calla. "He's a lion. Lions must do what they will or else they'll lash out. He is a cub, so he does need me eyeing him more oft than not, but he is a lion before he is my pet and I will let him act like it."

Loreon was wild because that's what he was: a wild animal. Not only was the animal forced to live amongst people and in castles, he enjoyed open fields and new places because he was a curious thing and still a cub. Once his curiosity was satiated, knowing everything that he possibly could, he always went back to Steffon's side. He was not affectionate like Calla was to Joanna. Loreon was a hunter, a fighter, and demanded freedom than he did attention. Of course, Steffon still gave him pettings, back and belly rubs when the lion was in the mood for it, but that's what he waited for. When Loreon needed it.

"Do not frighten him," said Joanna, eyes looking at him from their corners as she barely turned her head.

"Then how will I know if he's good for you?" Steffon smirked, knowing she was frowning right about now. "If he can't handle me then he's undeserving of you."

"And what makes you think I am so worthy of him?" His smirk disappeared and a frown took its place.

"Because you're my sister; you're the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and you're a Baratheon." Pulling the door open, Steffon lingered at the doorway for a few more minutes. "I'd kill every man in the world for you, you know that, don't you?

"I know." He could tell she was smiling as she spoke. "But you know that I would never ask that of you."

Steffon closed her door and looked at Ser Arys Oakheart, who was standing guard at his sister's door. "If you see anything suspicious, Ser Arys—"

"I will report it to you, My Prince." The young man bowed his head and Steffon watched him for a few minutes before eyeing the closed door again.

Steffon began traveling down the quiet, foreign halls of a castle he only heard of in stories. His eyes, too curious, had observed the very few decorations that hung upon the walls. It was when he heard voices down a nearby corridor did his steps cease and he keened his ears to the conversations. "Ser Trant, see to it that you report to me any conversations between your king and Lord Stark as you guard the door." It was his mother, plotting as per usual. "Should your shift end, relay such orders to Ser Blount." Steffon knew that the only way she could obtain information was through the work of men loyal to her since her spies couldn't come along during their trip.

"I will, Your Grace." He knew better not the question her, but he didn't hesitate at all. Steffon couldn't help but wonder what his mother did to make Trant and Blount so loyal to her. How did she reward them or what information did she have on them to make them to make her the puppetmaster of their strings? He was grateful that Trant went the other way so they would not pass and Steffon wouldn't be discovered. His mother, however, continued down the hall where they would surely meet. Steffon pretended that he was too far behind to hear their conversation by slowing down his steps before picking them up at the right moment.

When their paths met, his mother look to her left at him and raised the corners of her mouth in a small smile. "What are you doing here, Steffon? Are you just now leaving from seeing Joanna?" she asked, not at all believing that her plans had been heard.

"Yes, Mother. Are you going to see her now?" She took some steps towards him, standing before him now.

"No," Cersei answered with certainty, "I will give your sister time. I know she is unhappy and she needs time to adjust to a circumstance that may or may not come." She raised her hands to rest them on his arms, some silence fell before she spoke again. "You're much more vigilant to seeing to your sister's happiness than Jaime was for me when I was to marry Robert." Her smile was strained as she reflected of days long gone. "Though I suppose Jaime could not think of me at the time."

Yes, Steffon supposed that Jaime didn't have the time to ponder what kind of man Robert was when people were freshly calling him a kingslayer. Not only that, his uncle seemed haunted about the whole ordeal of the last moments he spent with the Mad King before he impaled him with his sword. His uncle looks so frazzled when he speaks of that moment he can't seem to forget. "You should retire until the feast, Mother." He took one of her hands and held it gingerly, giving her the smallest of smiles as he observed her tired features. "I'm sure all those hours in the wheelhouse weren't kind to you."

"I suppose you're right." His mother nodded slowly before looking up at him again. "I will see you at the feast." He watched her leave, heading towards the bedchambers she would be occupying in the guest apartments. There was something his mother was planning or thinking heavily about and Steffon had to wonder if he'll have to investigate about that too.

 _ **EDDARD**_

He stood at the window of his bedchambers, waiting for his wife to speak whatever was on her mind after relaying her the conversation he had with Robert in the crypts. He occasionally glanced at her, watching as she wrung her hands in thought as her blue eyes gazed into the fire. Catelyn did not look too perturbed, just curious. It made him wonder what her first initial feelings were before she allowed greater judgement to outweigh it. At least, he hoped his wife would put her greater judgement first before her very own feelings. This was their son after all; their firstborn.

 _"—You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together. If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood. Well, it's not too late. I have a daughter, you have a son. We'll join our Houses. My Joanna and your Robb shall join Houses; different roles, but of same purpose. It as Lyanna and I might once have done."_

 _"Cat and I promised to allow Robb to marry for love." Ned spoke up, raising his head as he still knelt before his best friend and King._

 _"What is there not to love of my Joanna? She's a sweet girl, and a obedient one too. She would never so much as fuss for she knows her place. She will be dutiful and a well future Lady of Winterfell." His friend smiled, but his smile did not reassure him. Ned's worries remained and not solely because of this marriage. He knew that Robert came all this way to make him his Hand, but it wasn't a position that Ned desired. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you."_

 _"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace." Ned's hesitation hadn't left, it only intensified. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife…"_

 _"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." Robert said, outstretching his arm to clasp him by the hand and pull him to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."_

Catelyn finally spoke, her eyes lifting up from the fireplace and up at him. "The Princess is very beautiful," she began, letting him get an inside look of her thoughts, "and I would like to know more about her myself but…"

He smiled since he knew her answer. His wife reservations were very clear on her face. "You want Robb to spend time with her." Catelyn's smile was small, but it was as warm as the heat that emanated from the fire. "Robb has no obligations for any arranged marriage. We've made that so." Stepping away from the window, he walked towards Catelyn to stand before her.

"I suppose Lord Karstark won't be as happy if Robb decides he wishes to marry the Princess and not his Alys," Catelyn said, reminding him of several namedays ago that Robb was made to dance with the young lady. Robb didn't seem all that interested in the girl, but he danced with her because he was polite and knew his role.

"Whether he likes it or not, he will not intervene. He knows the deepness of the friendship between Robert and I. He cannot compete nor give what a Stark-Baratheon alliance could ever give." Ned soon gathered his wife's hands. "The feast and duration of their stay may provide you as much insight as you need. I trust you to make the right judgement concerning Robb's happiness and the future of Winterfell."

Catelyn pressed her lips against his in a sweet and short kiss before becoming the perfectionist Lady of Winterfell again. "I'll tell the servants to prepare you a bath. It is high time we get ourselves ready for the feast."

 _ **JOANNA**_

Both her hands were occupied; Tommen was holding her left hand and Myrcella held her right. Usually her little siblings stayed behind their mother's skirts because she rarely let's them out of her sight, but Joanna steals them from time to time. She loves how they look at her like she knows so much and she loves how they cling to her because they love her that much as well. She never feels naïve or less than anyone else when Myrcella and Tommen see her more than what she really is. It feels wrong to feel pridefully validated in the eyes of children, but they help boost her strength for her to become what they believe her to be.

Walking behind them was Oakheart and Blount, giving them proper spacing as she listened to the youngest Baratheons conversations of what they thought of the North upon the few hours they've been here. Tommen and Myrcella seemed so happy to be away from home, which is strange for children so young. Perhaps she is the one who is strange when she too should be feeling free and adventurous instead of homesick.

She had missed the Red Keep long before they arrived in Winterfell. When she took the last steps of her home, she felt like running back in. She doesn't want to see these grey walls, she wanted to see sunlight pouring from the windows of the pale red stones of the home she has known since birth. Blackwater bay may have not smelled so pleasant, but she misses the sound of it and watching the ships sail its waters.

"Is is true you'll be marrying Robb Stark, Joanna?" Tommen asked, his big eyes of green were looking up at her. "Does that mean when we leave, you'll have to stay?"

Myrcella had not said a word but looked up at her too. Joanna tried her best to recreate the smile that assures them whenever they need it. "It is all rumours, Tommen. If father declares it so, however, then yes." She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. "I will have to live here and be by my lord husband."

His nod was slow and his eyes lowered halfway rather sadly. "I don't want you to live here, Joanna. I want you to come home and be with us." His grip on her hand tightened, mostly out of panic. "I hope father decides you don't marry him." Her eyes crinkled at their corners as they stood in the middle of the corridor. Not letting go of either one of their hands, she bent her knees, which made the skirts of her dress begin to pool on the floor. Tommen and Myrcella stood before her, eyes looking for the sister they believed her to be: the strong sister, the all-knowing sister, and the sister that would tell them what they needed to hear. She was none of the first two, but she could be the third one. Joanna was not strong nor all-knowing and yet she wouldn't let them think otherwise of her.

"Let's not think of what-ifs or maybes," Joanna looked between the two of them, "let's think of all the fun we'll have at the feast."

Tommen didn't seem content with her explanation nor her diversion. He merely looked at her with a slight pout and big eyes before giving her a rather lazy nod. Joanna kissed his little knuckles and held his hand close to her face, "I'll always be your sister, you know that?" He nodded again. "And I will always love you, do you know that as well?" He smiled this time and that eased her well enough. "If I am to live here, you can send me ravens and we'll always be in touch, Tommen. Even if I am far, my love lives wherever you, Steffon, Joffrey, and Myrcella are."

Joanna stood up, glad to know that her words soothed him for the time. It seemed to made Myrcella smile too and her green eyes gleamed happily again. They began walking again, becoming little chatterboxes without any limits while in her presence as per usual. Joanna used the sound of their voices to keep her calm and to not think of the worse. It was their voices that didn't let worse of pessimism and doubt crawl its way to the forefront of her mind.

As they rounded the corner, Joanna caught the sight of nearly everyone that was supposed to gather. She hadn't realized, until just now, that she and her youngest siblings were the last to arrive. Her mother, however, did not seem dismayed about it as she normally would have. Instead, she smiled as she looked at the three of them, her eyes roaming all over their choices of attire, seemingly pleased. "Took you long enough," said her father, who seemed halfway annoyed that he was made to wait, "you could've let your mother dress the tots."

"Mother needed her rest and I was able." It was an excuse really, a paper-thin one. Lady Stark eyed her quietly, making Joanna feel that the woman was taking notes. Perhaps she was using this time to judge her and Joanna wasn't sure if her words or her actions may have been met with silent approval or hopeful disapproval.

Her father merely looked her over and nodded. It meant he would say no more about it and that he accepted her actions despite how irate it made him. One wouldn't be able to tell, but Joanna knew. She's known her father for all her life now.

In efforts to not breathe out her relief, she watched as everyone fixed themselves in their positions based on age and order. First it would be Robert and Lady Stark then Lord Stark and Cersei to lead them. Afterwards was Steffon, who offered Sansa a polite smile and told her to walk arm-and-arm with Joffrey. Sansa seemed pleased and gave him a shy nod before making her way to where Joffrey was, which was behind where Joanna stood. She, herself, was made to walk with Robb Stark.

Her eyes looked to his arm, the one he proffered to her. She didn't wish to take it. She didn't wish to show any signs of interest, but she would be rude otherwise. "I won't hurt you, Princess." It sounded like he was teasing, and Joanna was more than sure that he actually was. "I promise."

Her eyes slowly looked up from his arm and at his bright blue eyes. They were intimidating with their color, but even more so because she found herself unable to gaze at him for too long. With a silent nod, Joanna wrapped her arm around his and found that he did not manipulate the situation to bring her closer. He gave her comfortable space and for that, she would be thankful.

Lady Stark checked the column and once she was pleased, Lord Stark commanded that the doors be opened. Joanna tried her best not to seemed unnerved or let her discomfort be shown on her face, but it was rather difficult. "Are you feeling well, Princess?" A voice whispered in her ear and as soon as turned her head left, Robb Stark's face was inches away from her own.

"I, well," she stumbled before seeing no harm in telling him a half-truth, "I am just a bit peckish, really." She was hungry and Tommen and Myrcella had made her rather curious of the Northern foods that would be served. It had been some time since she last ate and her fast had gone on for too long. She was quite eager to break it more than she'd like to admit.

Robb said no more, but instead gave a light-hearted chuckle. She wasn't enthused by it, not by the slightest. What did she say that he found humorous? Did he find her hunger amusing? Her eyes looked around in her musings as she tried to figure out what could cause such a reaction. It was useless to devote much time to it, especially since the column was already moving. Joanna had to match his pace and school her features to one that belongs to a princess for all the Northerners to see.

The Great Hall of Winterfell made her feel rather relatively minuscule. It was as if she could feel the weight of history in this very place in one fell swoop. The Kings of Winter that resided years long before the Red Keep was even built… The story of the King Who Knelt, Torrhen Stark, came across her thoughts. Her own ancestor of her Targaryen blood that lives throughout this generation of Baratheon had made such a great man, who owned these halls, submit. This place made her feel small and it also made her feel like an intruder.

Robb had escorted her to the table, which he didn't have to do. They could've split apart and went their separate ways and yet he went the extra mile. He dusted the spot of the bench for her, which her twin watched in bemusement as well her mother and Lady Stark from the platform above them. "You didn't have to…" she began to say, her face heating up due to the attention more than his actions. Everyone of importance was watching and her skin was starting to feel like it was burning from the many eyes gazing at her.

"I wanted to," he simply said and she was left staring up at him as if he spoke some foreign language. He waited, quite patiently, for her to sit and she smoothed her skirts to sit down in the chair. She watched from the corner of her eyes at his retreating form. She didn't thank him. He probably thought her as some cold and ungrateful person when it wasn't even her intention.

"Polite," Steffon commented, his tone set to tease her, "and attentive." He seemed as if he was taking notes, checking off things about Robb Stark that he has seen thus far. "And yet my sister is some blushing maid who can't even properly thank him." Her face became rosy, her eyes narrowing as he laughed at the sudden shift her expression.

"Be quiet!" she mumbled harshly, her green eyes slewing away from him to find Robb Stark, who sat at at the farther down the table with the Greyjoy boy. "It was so sudden and…" she tried to explain herself, "and whenever someone is that kind, they usually have a motive." An excuse. A terrible one too.

"Or you're just being mistrustful." Steffon rose a curious brow, daring her to lie and say that it wasn't true. "Tell me you're not picking any and everything to say he has some faults. You want to dislike him that badly?" It annoyed her how right he was and just how easily he read her in a matter of minutes. That's what it was like to have a twin. Her emotions and thoughts were all too visible for him or perhaps that's what it was like to have Steffon as a brother. He could read people too well and that was a dangerous trait of his.

Servants came and placed plates before them and Joanna's appetite was in the forefront of her mind again, replacing Robb Stark. Picking up her fork, she began to eat, but made sure she had done so daintily. She was a princess and princesses do not eat wildly or in a hurry. They ate little and they ate slowly, almost as if they don't eat at all.

"I sent some people to gather some information for me," Joanna looked to her brother, showing her curiosity in their depths, "and they say that Robb Stark doesn't visit the brothels. In fact, if anyone does, it's Theon Greyjoy. He's a frequent customer and Robb is never with him." She hadn't even thought to investigate if her potential husband-to-be whored like her father. It completely slipped her mind. "People in winter town have only kind things to say about him. He's as honorable as they come in their eyes."

"In their eyes," she echoed his words, "but you still have doubts?"

"Of course." Steffon said as he placed down his fork on the pewter plate, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before speaking again. "They are his people and he is their future lord, is he not?" Joanna felt stupid for not considering that. "Also, performers aren't the only people good at playing roles. It could be a well-kept ruse."

And he thought her to be paranoid? He was certainly more suspicions in mind than she was. Picking up her goblet of summerwine, she squinted immediately when the wave came at her with full force and the burn trickled down her throat as she gulped. It was sweet, which she had liked, but it was strong too. It was a poor choice to drink, knowing good and well that she was not a person of high tolerance. One sip would do just fine. She wouldn't drink anymore of it and would ask for water throughout.

There was one person missing during the feast and when she realized who it was, she felt pity. "They've barred him from the feast," she said to her brother, a frown making its way on her face.

"You mean Jon Snow?" Steffon asked, turning to look at her in time to catch her nod. "I've heard Lady Stark loathes the boy. She does not treat him as her own."

It seemed that her mother and Lady Stark mirrored each other when it came to their husband's bastards. Edric and Mya were never allowed to come to King's Landing or to live with them in the Red Keep. Their father once thought to bring Mya to court and shortly after a rumor had spread that her mother had threatened Mya's life. She wasn't sure if it had been true or just some gossip to spite her mother. She didn't get the chance to know much of Mya, but Steffon did. He had journeyed to the Vale with Lord Arryn once and met her while Joanna only had the luxury of knowing her through his stories. Steffon still writes to her while Joanna didn't work up the courage to try to know her half-sister well.

She knew Edric personally. When Steffon was a ward for House Penrose despite their mother's disapproval, she had got the chance to visit him often when she stayed at Storm's End with Renly. She fell in love with him, seeing so much of their father in his features that he looked like a miniature Steffon in her eyes. She writes to him often, sending him gifts on his nameday. His letter should've arrived by now, telling her what he thought of her recent gift to him.

"It's unfortunate." Joanna picked up her fork, pushing the carrot without much thought. "He didn't ask to be born nor he did not break the vows that his father made. Why should he be blamed?"

"Rumors say it is because he looks more like a Stark than her own children." She pictured the pretty bastard boy again and compared him to his handsome brother Robb. Robb had auburn hair, the same color as his mother, and her blue eyes. Jon Snow had dark hair and dark eyes, much like Lord Stark. Joanna supposed she could see how unsettling that could be as a wife, but Joanna still could not find it in her to believe his treatment was fair. Perhaps her mother felt the same about her youngest children too compared to Edric and Mya, who were Baratheons to the bone as far as looks were concerned.

"The younger girl has the Stark look." Arya, Joanna remembered. She didn't get a chance to speak much to her, but a servant did inform her that Sansa looked forward to getting acquainted with her.

Her twin nodded in agreement. "It is more important that sons resemble their father, Joanna. They'll be the one to give their sons and any future child the Stark look." He made clear. "The Stark boys, however, have more of the Fish in them than the Wolf and their children likely will as well."

She looked over to Robb, her mind making a comparison of how she took after her mother just as he did. She wondered if that had bothered him before and if it still does now. How did he feel when people constantly compared him to his mother in looks and never his father? She even wonders if they could bond over those frustrations. What true reason should she bond with him anyway? Their marriage was not confirmed and not was it in the planning; Robb Stark was not hers to be curious of.

 ** _ROBB_**

"I hear there were people goin' around asking questions." Theon kept his voice low, almost as if no one was to hear he was saying.

"Asking questions about what?" Curious, Robb's hitched an eyebrow and looked around, wondering if he was being watched at this very moment. He saw no eyes on him or anyone that seemed out of the norm in particular.

Theon lips created his infamous smirk, "About you, Robb."

He was stunned. Why would someone send people around to ask of him? Not his father nor his mother, but about him and him alone. His brows furrowed, his confusion and weariness written all over his face. "Why would anyone be curious of me?"

"Seems to me, my friend, that perhaps your future wife sits in this room." He knew what his foster brother was eluding to now and he couldn't help but have mixed feelings about it. Robb wasn't sure what to make of Princess Joanna since he had not spoken much to her. From his brief observations, he could tell that she extremely shy, something Steffon had forewarned them about this morning.

His earlier thoughts of them being curious of one another seemed to be true. Robb had the idea that maybe she was gathering information about him for who else would want to? It hadn't matched well with her though, seeing as just not even a good thirty minutes ago, she wished to keep her distance from him. She hadn't even thanked him when he made sure her seat was completely clean so she wouldn't ruin her skirts. It wasn't like he felt he had been owed a thanks, but it would've been appreciated.

Even with all those rather awkward moments, Robb still thought her to be pretty; beautiful even. Her light blonde hair had fell in lazy curls and she had it pinned up in the southron-woman way. It showed her long neck and highlighted the soft features of her face, which made him curious if she looked like a different person if she kept it down and plain like a Northern woman. She looked pretty in red, which made her seem bold when she wasn't. She should wear pale, delicate colors because that's how she seemed; fragile.

"I dare say your future wife is even looking at you at this very moment." Robb turned his head by the end of Theon's sentence to meet the eyes of the Baratheon girl. It hadn't taken long for her to register that he was aware of her staring. Her eyes went wide before she quickly looked away, pretending as if she never looked his way at all.

"She's messing with my head," Robb declared, growing rather frustrated, "she seems as if she hates me and now she's staring at me. Do you think she's the one asking questions about me?"

Theon shrugged his shoulders, "How would I know? Though I doubt it. It could've been the Queen or King."

Whomever it was that did their investigating, he hoped that they realized it was a waste of time. Robb was not a perfect person, he never thought himself to be, but he had nothing to hide. "You're not even thrilled at the possibility." Theon wrinkled his nose some, looking annoyed himself. "You still holdin' onto that stupid dream of marrying for love?"

"It isn't stupid," Robb replied, "and mother said it was likely I would. She saw no reason to put me in an arranged marriage like she and father were forced into."

None of his words seemed to sink into his friend. In fact, Theon looked rather exasperated after listening to him. "She's the fuckin' princess," Theon tried to make clear, thinking Robb wasn't aware of Joanna's title, "and she's pretty and most certainly a maid. She seems like the submissive kind, letting you do what you want whenever you want without uttering a word. You'd be living the dream, Robb Stark. Not everyone gets to marry a princess."

Robb never dreamed of having a submissive wife. What would he do with a woman with no mind of her own? A woman who could not give him counsel and make him see from another perspective than his own? He did not need a warrior or a political mastermind, but he wanted a woman who could do without him and for herself should she need to. Was it hard to dream of a woman like his mother? One who was smart and did her duties without any instructions?

"That isn't _my_ dream, Theon." Robb clapped his best friend's shoulder, eyes trying to look at the Princess from their corners. She was standing, smoothing down her skirts and she left the bench to go up to the high platform where their mothers were.

A servant had came scurrying over to them, bowing their head once they stood before Robb. "Your lady mother wishes for you to see her now, M'lord."

Robb could feel Theon staring away at him, smirking no doubt. He eyed him with vexation before standing and schooling his features as he made his way up to the high table where the two women were sitting. Joanna stood before them, her hands folded neatly as she watched him come to stand next to her. "You wished to see me Mother?"

"Yes." Catelyn smiled at him. "The Queen and I thought it would be wise if we informed you that your father and the King hopes to marry the two of you." The princess at his side visibly stiffened.

"It is not promised," Queen Cersei quickly said with a smile Robb couldn't tell was forced or true, "but Lady Catelyn and I wish that the two of you will spend time with one another. It would make us happy to know that if such marriage is made to be that the two of you will be comfortable with one another beforehand."

Was this his mother's way of chancing that Robb may grow to love Joanna? That she was ensuring he could have a happy marriage despite the short stay of the royal family? He clenched his jaw tightly before realizing that whether or not his mother and father encouraged this, they would have difficulty denying the king if he was the one to suggest it.

The Princess turned to look at him, her eyes holding a faraway look in them as if she dreamed herself to be in any place that wasn't here. "I look forward to getting better acquainted with you, Robb Stark." She didn't sound like she meant it and that's what made it all worse. Robb tried to keep himself from frowning and gave her a stiff nod.

"As I with you, Princess Joanna," he lied through his teeth, and he wondered if she could feel the sting of her words and feelings being sent back towards her. Joanna hadn't reacted at all to his icy tone much to his dismay. It was like she was in a dream state, begging for whatever this was to be over.

 _ **CATELYN**_

The princess had reminded her of her younger self. She had been so close to her family and was saddened that she would be made to leave them when her engagement to Brandon was announced. She did not want to leave her father nor her sister and little Edmure at the time, but duty called her. It was what she prepared her entire life for and now she could see the reflection of her past heartache in the eyes of the princess. Seeing her speak so tersely hadn't surprised nor aggravated her, but it made her pour with empathy to the young girl she barely knew.

Robb did not look at all fond of this either, just like his uncle didn't, but she knew he would try in the same manner that Brandon did too. Her own son reminded her of the man she nearly loved. From the curls on his head to his stature and to his smile did she see many aspects of the Wild Wolf. Ned even told her once that he should've inherited the name due to the extreme likeness in personality and looks. Catelyn wouldn't change Robb, not even his name since she loved him so. She just hoped that Robb would soon marry and have children, living a peaceful life that two of the former Starks did not give a chance to have.

"One day this week, Princess," the young blonde turned to look at her as she spoke, "you and I should get better acquainted ourselves over some tea."

"I would like that, Lady Stark." Joanna smiled some, _almost_ like she had meant it.

"Escort her back to her seat, Robb. We won't keep two two of you any longer." Her son held out his hand to help her down the platform and Joanna took it rather quickly.

"I hope you forgive her." Cersei pressed the chalice to her lips. "My daughter isn't herself around strangers."

"Of course." Catelyn gave a polite smile. "I remember when I was in her position. Brandon and I were given time to be comfortable with each other before I married Ned, who was but a stranger to me. I'm pleased Robb and Joanna will get the same luxury as I once did."

The Queen took a long sip of the summerwine, her eyes gazing at the chalice before placing it on the table. "I wish I was shown that kind of kindness. I didn't get the chance to know Robert, I was just told I was to marry him."

Speaking of the King, the both of them looked to see the round man dancing and groping a serving girl without so much of a thought of his wife. Catelyn pitied the queen then, wondering how many times Robert cheated and embarrassed her so openly without regard of her pride.

 _ **JOANNA**_

It was unwise to walk in foreign territory with no sense of direction, but her mind wanted to wander and she only could do so as she walked. Joanna paid no mind to where her feet would lead her and just moseyed, going wherever she could go. She sooner found herself outside, getting a full glimpse of morning light struggling through the grey clouds. It hadn't snowed yet and she had been curious of such weather. She wanted to see these things called snowflakes and how they became water again when they touched warm skin. Joanna wanted to see how the ground looked when covered in all white and that sometimes grew thick like blankets. Snow was such a curious and foreign thing, and it was the one thing that made her eager during her stay in the North.

Her amusement of how her breath became visible in puffs briefly ended. At first she kept breathing out, watching the fog that would leave her lips. It felt childish to be entertained by such a thing, but it was new to her and an experience she never thought she get to have. Joanna didn't know how she ended up here, but she marveled at the beauty of the godswoods. It was such an old one, possibly centuries older than the one in King's Landing, and she felt like she was in an entirely different world.

Her curiosity was stalled when she heard the sound of voices. Her green eyes looked around until she saw the younger Stark boys, sitting on a moss-covered stone bench by the heart tree. Joanna hadn't mean to interrupt them and alert their direwolves. The lighter one did not seemed phased much by her, but the darker direwolf seemed quite hostile. Calla, at her feet, had rounded until she was before her in a means of protection and Joanna could hear the hisses leaving through the white lion's sharp teeth.

"Calm yourself, Calla." Joanna whispered to the lion, bending her knees so that her hand could stoke along the feline's back. Whether it was her voice or her presence had been noticed, Brandon and Rickon had raised their heads and gazed up at her. She greeted them with a small smile and they gifted her with smiles of their own. "Forgive me." Joanna lowered her head rather shyly. "I did not mean to intrude."

"That's quite alright, Princess," Brandon had said, his smile never leaving. He was much more at ease than the little one. "Have you come to pray to the old gods?"

"No," she answered too quickly for her liking, "I was named in the light of the Seven." All the Baratheon children were, just like their parents. Joanna never considered herself pious as she would like to be, but Steffon seemed as if he hardly recognized the Faith at all. She never knew what made him stop believing and she never did question it.

"Then why did you come here?" Rickon bluntly asked, big eyes filled with curiosity and weariness. Joanna couldn't help but smile, enjoying how the boy spoke his mind.

Brandon whipped his head to scowl at his tiny brother, ready to reprimand him for speaking so boldly. It reminded her of Steffon and Joffrey. Steffon always was the one to scold Joffrey, telling him what he said or did was wrong. Joanna knew it was mainly because their father had no qualm of laying a hand on Joffrey, making her remember the incident of Joffrey's curious mind and a pregnant, unfortunate cat.

"That was rude, Rickon." Rickon didn't seem to understand how what he said was ill-mannered. "He didn't mean to speak to you that way, Princess."

She couldn't help but breathe out a chuckle. "I know he meant no harm." Her eyes looked up at the dark red leaves of the tree that was such a colorful contrast compared to the bone white bark of the tree. The breeze would come, ruffling the leaves, and the branches looked like swaying arms and the leaves like red hands. "May I sit with the two of you?"

Brandon hesitated before nodding, looking at his little brother to tell him to move down. Rickon frowned some and reluctantly moved, letting Joanna use her cloak of fur to keep her from ruining her skirts. "If you aren't of the old gods then why did you come to the godswood?" Brandon asked Rickon's question except he was more polite than the littlest brother.

"I didn't come here with a purpose, Young Lord Brandon." she answered honestly, meeting his eyes as he gazed up at her. "I merely decided to walk around and ended up coming here. I suppose I am most anxious of the spar in a few hours. You will be fighting my little brother Tommen, isn't that right?" He smiled at first but then must've thought it seemed wrong to smile.

"Aye, I am." He picked his words, trying to be careful. "Steffon will spar with Robb, won't he? After he spars with Joffrey, that is."

"Both of my brothers are competitive," Joanna admitted, "so it is likely."

"Robb will win." Rickon was full of confidence, looking up at her with his big eyes. "Robb is going to beat them."

"Rickon!" Brandon called his brother's name with warning and gritted teeth.

Joanna placed her hand on the youngest boy's head. "I love the way you believe so strongly in your brother, Little Lord." Rickon seemed more surprised at her smile than he was at her words. "Just as you believe in Robb, I believe in my brothers too."

"What if they lose?" Rickon asked. "Will you be unhappy with them?"

"No," she replied, "whether they win or lose, I'll still love them and be glad that they did their best. Winning isn't everything unless it's a battle for life and death. I highly doubt, Little Lord, that their spar shall be that severe."

The silence that came was a comfortable one as she listened to the sounds of birds and winds of the godswood. The place brought a sense of tranquility and she could see why someone would seek this place out if their mind was heavy with trouble. Rickon and Brandon seemed entertained by the direwolves circling the Hrakkar, teaming together to taunt the lion cub. She was surrounded by wolves, reminding Joanna of her own situation. Calla would swipe left and right, wishing and pushing them away and then she would look to them again, but out of sheer hope that they would continue the fun.

"What do you two like to do for fun?" Joanna found herself asking as she tore her eyes away from the wolves and lion.

"Bran likes to climb," said Rickon. "He can climb anything!"

"Oh?" Joanna looked to Brandon, who lowered his head rather shyly before nodding. "Isn't it quite dangerous to climb things?"

"He never falls." The youngest Stark quickly added before looking up at the tree. "Father called him a squirrel once for climbing the heart tree."

She chuckled at how abashed Brandon seem to become. The cold wind hadn't reddened his face but Rickon telling her of this skill of his had made him blush. "I'm… I'm not that great." He tried to be modest.

"Liar," Rickon mumbled, making his brother frown. "Show her how you climb the tree."

The older brother's eyes widened, shocked that Rickon suggested it. He then looked up at Joanna, wondering if she'd like to see him show her his talent. "I won't tell anyone if climbing gets you in trouble, Young Lord."

He looked at her for a long while and she hoped that her smile was reassuring. He sooner gave her an upward curve of his lips and jumped off the stone bench and stood before the beautiful white tree. His eyes first looked to the weeping face and then up at the branches that seemed so far. He took some steps back, letting out an exhale, and ran. He needed a running start so he could jump over the weeping face to get a good footing to grasp the nearest branch. Soon he scurried up, moving as fast and swift like a squirrel in its element. Joanna then stood, Rickon following after her as they neared the tree trunk to look up to see Bran sitting on a branch with a smile.

"See!" Rickon's excitement was in high volume in his voice. "I told you he could climb the tree!"

Joanna looked at the youngest Stark and nodded before tilting her head back to gaze up at Brandon. "Should I climb after you, Young Lord Brandon?" Joanna jumped and because she was taller than the boy who climbed before her. She could easily pull herself up without needing a running start.

"You can climb trees, Princess?" Brandon asked her in astonishment as she climbed up another branch and then another until she sat opposite of him one branch.

"Steffon used to climb the trees in the godswood too." Joanna began to swing her feet, recalling some precious memories. "I used to try and imitate him because I looked up to him, and I still do. They say a man must know how to climb because climbing is a test of strength and courage for life will make him climb up many ladders. I only climbed because I was following my brother."

Brandon chuckled at her story before they both looked down at Rickon, who tilted his head to the side. "Are you going to climb down now? I can't reach!" He raised his arms and jumped, proving how he couldn't climb a tree like they could. "I'm too small."

Her words halted on her lips because of the sudden third voice. "Rickon!" Joanna stiffened, knowing who it was, and both she and Brandon shared of look of the same fear. "Rickon! Where is Bran?" It was Robb and surely Brandon was needed for the upcoming sparring session.

"Don't tell him I'm up here!" Brandon tried to control the volume of his voice so that Robb couldn't hear him.

Rickon frowned, almost like he didn't want to lie or more like he was afraid his lie wouldn't be believable. "H-He…" His nervous stuttering was cute and she tried not to laugh. "He isn't here," Rickon finally said or rather lied.

"Then why is his direwolf here?" Robb was visible to them now, standing next to his youngest brother. Joanna frowned, deeply, especially when Robb's head tilted back. "Bran?" His eyes saw his brother first before looking left. He did a double take, much too shocked to see her. "Princess?" His eyes widened, mouth agape.

Her smile was a nervous one, "I…" At first, she thought she should explain herself. How could she explain that she decided to tree climb with his little brother? "I, well, this is hard to explain."

Robb brightened, smiling and then laughing as if this was amusing. It was embarrassing more than anything. It didn't take much out of her to make Robb laugh, she broodingly realized. His laughter came at her expense. Twice now. "I didn't take you for a girl that liked to climb trees, Princess Joanna."

"I assure you that I do not climb trees regularly." She lowered her eyes shyly, fiddling with her fingers.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but Bran needs to get ready for his spar with Prince Tommen. I assume you wish to be there as well?" Joanna nodded and looked to Brandon, eyes signaling him to climb down first. Brandon easily lowered himself down branch by branch, making sure his footing was steady before he jumped down at Robb's feet. Robb tousled his brother's hair before looking up at her.

"If you would, Lord Robb, turn your head away as I climb down." Her voice was quavering upon her demand that sounded like a request. His face suddenly became a shade of red as he slew his eyes away, looking at any and everything that was not her. Joanna tried to make sure she followed Brandon's careful steps on her way down, lodging her foot between the crevice between branch and tree trunk. Her hands were sweating, she realized, due to how nervous she was now that Robb was here. Her palms were getting too clammy and that made her lose her grip and fall back.

"Princess Joanna!" Brandon called her name as the world became nothing but a rushing blur of red and white. Her eyes squeezed shut, preparing for the pain she knew that would come as her fear managed to make it impossible for her to breathe. Nothing happened. No pain or broken bones like she expected, but instead she felt as if she were being carried. After a few seconds of keeping her eyes closed, she opened them slowly to see the red leaves and white branches of the weirwood tree above her head.

When it made sense why her body didn't meet the ground, Joanna slowly turned right to see bright blue eyes staring at her. "I've caught you, Princess," Robb said slowly, almost like he thought she couldn't understand him. "You're safe." His words were supposed to be reassuring, and for a minute they were. Joanna felt immediately relieved, but her relief soon became embarrassment.

Robb Stark was carrying her in his arms as if she didn't weigh a thing. Joanna was shallow, prided herself into maintaining her looks, but she was sure she was heavy. At least heavy enough to make how he held her seem like a task. All she could do was look at him, secretly wanting to scream that she allowed herself to foolishly fall from climbing and then get so flustered about being in the arms of the boy she doesn't want to marry if her father decides she must.

"Thank you," Joanna managed to say, her voice small. "You could…" Clearing her throat, her smile came out frazzled than it did courteously. "You could let me down now."

"Oh…" The laugh was timid and awkward as he lowered the arm that held her by the back of his knees, letting her feet touch the ground first. "My apologies." Clearing his throat, Robb took appropriate steps away from her as she smoothed down her skirts, eyes looking up at him through her lashes.

"But really, thank you." Folding her hands, she turned to fully face him. "I owe you for catching me. I could've been seriously hurt or perhaps even worse if it weren't for you."

"You owe me?" he repeated incredulously. "Princess, I only…" He stopped and then he smiled. "Alright. You owe me."

"Excuse me?" Joanna arched a brow, a bit taken back that he didn't deny such a request. A polite man would've said no and that they did what they should, but Robb was going to taken advantage of it.

"You said you owe me." Robb made clear before taking one single step towards her, making the distance between them rather small. "And what I ask is that you allow me some time to know you." Dumbfounded, Joanna blinked twice. "That means no running away or being cold to me when I wish to see you, you'll consider it. After the sparring, we can start by me giving you a tour of Winterfell."

They sounded like demands, but it didn't sound as if he was aiming to seek something from her other than her time. Joanna pondered, wondering if she would come to regret for accepting this. She looked over to see Brandon and Rickon, who watched them curiously before Brandon nodded his head to encourage her to say yes. Amused by Brandon helping his brother, she looked up at Robb. "I'll meet you by the library at high noon."

Feeling proud that she hadn't stuttered or let her face become rosy like a besotted maid, Joanna walked away with her head held up high and her steps not too fast and not to slow either.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was getting too long and so I decided to save the spar for the next one. I'm sorry there wasn't much Steffon in this chapter other than Baratheon-Lannister family dynamics, but there will be in the upcoming ones. I literally save all my action-writing for him.


	4. The Value of Honor

**_JOANNA_**

The North's style of a morning meal was much more elegant than she expected. Her mother always spoke lowly of the North and the Starks, so Joanna assumed they ate mostly game since fruits could not be well-grown here. The food at the welcoming feast certainly proved that her mother was only half right. Cersei insulated a lot of falsities in her and Joanna was beginning to wonder what other things her mother exaggerated or lied about regarding the Stark family. She was no longer coming to care about what they had done to make her mother hold little love towards them. Her mother, she sorely came to realize, held little love for most.

For a time, Joanna quietly observed the golden-maned woman, who did not seem displeased about her breakfast at all. She eyed the food with minimal disdain and took her silver spoon to scoop a little of the soft-boiled egg remaining in its half opened, cracked shell. With a single taste, she did not tear apart the chef; Cersei ate quietly and gracefully, like she was being watched despite Joanna being the only one in her presence. For a moment, Joanna thought that breakfast would go over nicely, but she had been wrong.

"I've heard of your little adventure in the godswood." Joanna stiffened at once, the knife she was going to use to smear her hot bread with the blackberry preserves nearly fell out of her hand. Her jaw tightened and her appetite began to wane for she knew her mother promptly brought up this conversation for one reason. To scold her. "Climbing trees are we, Joanna?" Cersei said, knowing just how to frighten her children precisely. Her lips were always in a sweet smile, her words ever so biting and bitter, but her eyes… Her eyes held all the rage withheld in her and Joanna always feared when that burning gaze was sent her way, ready to set her afire.

"I…" An excuse seemed to be fruitless, especially since she could not come up with a good one. All Joanna could do was sit there like a fool and prepare herself to be lectured. But first, she would hope to lessen the scolding her mother would give her with some proper apologies. "Forgive me, Mother. I know better than to think that climbing trees was of royal decorum. I was careless… I forgot who I am." Her head lowered shamefully.

"You think I want the Starks to believe I'm raising some rambunctious girl as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms?" Her mother's voice was as sharp as steel. Words alone had made Joanna feel as if someone held the edge of a sword right up to her neck. "Do you forget that people watch what you say and what you do? Did you not think of what such actions would cause people to say about you? What they would say about _me_ , Joanna?"

The Princess lowered her knife onto the table and placed both her hands atop of her lap, hiding the fiddling of her thumbs or else her mother would pick at that habit of hers. Her mother would pick at any displeasures, especially while angry. With her assessments of her mother's temper, it would make one wonder how many times Joanna found herself in trouble more so with her mother than her father. Joanna couldn't recall a time where her father scolded her or felt the need to punish her. Joanna wasn't adventurous or assertive as Steffon and Joffrey were. She did not give him reasons to discipline her or remind her who she was. He left all her punishments to her mother simply because he couldn't be "bothered" with it. His precise words were: _"She's your daughter and you're the Queen, punish her as you see fit. I groom men, not girls; her mistakes are of your own failure as a mother."_ Cersei had slapped her _hard_ the day he said that. To hear her husband say she made two mistakes as a mother and a queen? Those were the foulest insults that could ever be told to Queen Cersei Lannister by the likes of King Robert Baratheon.

"Eat," her mother urged, lifting her eyes from off her pewter plate so Joanna could feel the force of the heatwave they created. Joanna felt like a child again, but when did she ever stop feeling that way? How do you feel like you're a woman-grown? She never knew how it felt to shed your adolescence away and become a proper adult. "You will not be faint because _you_ chose not to eat over wounded feelings. I will not suffer the blame so your father can have reason to pick an argument. I would like to not have further dealings with him than what's necessary for today."

With a feeble nod, Joanna picked up her knife and spread the preserves across the hot bread. Breakfast resumed in silence, Joanna felt that familiar sense of foreboding looming over her, causing her to watch what she did next. Her mother had eyes all over King's Landing, and she brought several of these eyes with her to Winterfell. Even in the North, Joanna could not escape her mother, even just for a moment's time.

Once breakfast was done, Joanna parted with her mother rather awkwardly, with her head low as she prepared to make her way to the tiltyard. Aleyth and Emeline, her handmaidens, and Isolde Prester, her lady-in-waiting, would be expecting her arrival. Naturally, she wanted to have breakfast with Isolde and walk with her to watch Steffon, Joffrey, and Tommen spar with the Stark boys, but her mother requested breakfast with her instead, changing her plans.

Since she was seven, Joanna and Isolde had been very close. The two of them only could spend time together whenever meetings should allow Houses of the Westerlands to come to the Crownlands. Most of the time, they only came together for some sort of event; birthdays, weddings, and other important ceremonies. Despite the distance and the sparse time away, they never stopped keeping in touch. It was because of their closeness that her mother decided and trusted Isolde to be her lady-in-waiting, and they became as close as friends could be.

Joanna wanted to tell Isolde of her feelings regarding Robb Stark. She truly wanted to think less of him, feeling the need to cringe and inwardly scream every time her mind replayed the memory of that embarrassing and fleeting moment between them this morning in the godswood. It seemed as though everyone just about knew what occurred and she had no way of knowing how. Rickon, Brandon, and Robb were the only few there with her and so one of them must've repeated what happened and it ended up spreading around like wildfire in a matter of hours.

Steffon teased her, heavily, having heard the events through the gossiping Sansa Stark and her friend, Jeyne Poole. Her twin dramatically recited the events, adding words never once said and making fun of how angrily red her face would become. _"She said it was so "romantic" how it all unfolded. If I knew any better, dear sister, they'll write a song about it."_ Joanna prayed to the Maiden for mercy that no such song would be sung from a bard's lips. At least not in her lifetime.

The wind was nippier than how it was this morning, but it was not enough to make her want to hurry back inside. It was at a certain temperature that made her clutch her cloak closer to her form in search for warmth. It would take some time to adjust to the drastic change of weather yet she would not complain for this may be her future home, after all. With that thought in mind, she would have no choice but to bear through the cold, and forget sun and constant warmth once and for all.

Her head slowly turned to look over her shoulder, catching sight of the knight made to follow her. It was Ser Arys Oakheart, following her around under her mother's orders. After this morning's events, it was only natural to believe her mother encouraged him to give her less freedom. He might even be ordered to give reports on everything she said or did. Joanna didn't mind though, she rather liked him, and preferred him and her uncle Jaime, to be her guard for the mornings or evenings.

It might've been a miracle that her uncle wasn't made to watch her. Joanna doubted the man would be able to restrain himself from outwardly insulting each and every one of the Stark boys at the spar. Her uncle was an arrogant man, but had good reasons for his arrogance when it came to swordplay. He was unrivaled and known as the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. If she had his skill, perhaps she would be less doubtful and bolder. She might've even developed the Lannister arrogance that her grandfather, mother, and uncles possessed and wore like fine, unchipable armor.

Before she inched another step closer, onto the path to the tiltyard, Joanna halted her steps. Something whizzed by her, so fast that a little wind blew the ends of her cloak. Calla, at her heels, had watched in the same curiosity. The lion's green eyes, that were so much like her own, had kept themselves trained on the what was just a blur for a moment. Squinting, Joanna focused her eyes, and saw the young Stark girl running with her direwolf trotting behind her. It did not seem she was going straight to the tiltyard and that puzzled the Princess.

Nosily, Joanna followed. At times, Arya would pick up pace in sudden spurts, making Joanna's slow walk pick up speed. To her surprise, she followed the girl to a bridge that rested between the armoury and the Great Keep. Joanna had no idea why Arya wanted to be here and when she finally saw the girl come to a stop, Joanna's eyes widened when they laid upon Jon Snow, resting on the sill of the window with eyes observing on what appeared to be the perfect view of the tiltyard below.

The white wolf, that belonged to the bastard boy, had growled and Calla took cautious steps in efforts to protect her mistress. Both Jon and Arya whipped their heads to look at her, and she felt herself go still upon their confused and sceptical looks. "I…" Joanna cleared her throat, bringing her plump bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, "I apologize. I seem to have…" her eyes quickly looked around, trying to bear some confusion, "have gotten… lost."

"Lost?" Arya repeated, a thick eyebrow slowly raising. "The tiltyard is right there." She pointed to the very obvious place with her skinny finger. "How could you miss it?"

Joanna stifled a laugh that was woven with all her anxiety. "I… well, I seemed to have…" Lying was nothing she was good at. The South bred liars, except for her. "I must've went the wrong way."

Arya remained unconvinced while Jon Snow was already on his feet, his head politely bowed before her. Joanna raised her hands, shaking her head fervently. "Princess, I could escort you to the tiltyard if you need," he offered and she felt as if she had ruined a moment of peace for him.

"No, no!" she suddenly said, looking over her shoulder to see that Ser Aerys Oakheart was not behind her as he should've been. He must've lost track of her when she began to run and was probably looking all over the place in search for her. She turned her head back to Jon Snow and Arya Stark, who looked very much confused. Everything about this situation was unpleasantly awkward. "Please, continue to watch. I did not mean to intrude."

"You wanted to see the spar?" asked the young girl, her head slightly tilted. "What's a princess doing watching spars?"

"Those are my brothers," Joanna answered with newfound confidence, "and I've seen many spars. My father loves tourneys and has them often. I've seen many men fight in them…" _and die in them as well_ , she said to herself.

"Is that why you weren't in stitching lessons?" There seemed to be a spark in the girl's eyes, almost as if she was excited to know such an answer. Joanna blinked slowly, confused by her interest.

Lowering her head, a small smile played about Joanna's lips. "I'm quite good at stitching, but I always thought it was utterly boring." Arya smiled at her reply. "It's not like we have a choice. It's either stitch or the switch."

"You've gotten the switch?!" The girl gaped, shocked as if they would use discipline on a princess too. Joanna laughed at her astonishment. "But you're…"

"A princess? So I should be exempt of such punishments? No, that isn't always so true, Arya Stark." Her eyes slowly looked right at Jon Snow, who was looking at them from the corner of his eyes before looking back at the tilttyard. He seemed as if he was unsure of how to behave in such a predicament. Joanna felt sad that he was all too familiar with his bastard title, knowing that being in such a proximity without supervision, would be troublesome if it were found out.

It was her duty, knowing his unfortunate circumstance, to leave but all those thoughts left when Arya grasped her wrist. "Stay with us and watch the spars, will you?" And how could she refuse those big eyes and that smile? Arya Stark was simply hard to refuse.

 _ **STEFFON**_

It took everything in him to not show his frustrations. His eyes did not wear their softness, as they usually would, when gazing at upon Tommen. At this moment, he was not the understanding older brother, the one who coddled Tommen and carried him on his shoulders. He was the Crown Prince, stuck on his image as well as his family's, hoping that his little brother would defeat his opponent. The padding that was used to protect their small bodies made it hard to give them much movement and so all their swings and steps were stiff and awkward. With just one wrong turn, a person would fall and hardly be able to get himself back up. Steffon understood the precaution, but it was harshly working against Tommen, who hardly had such drills while wearing so much protection.

They looked like two pillows swatting at each other with wooden swords that had their own padding too. While Theon Greyjoy laughed, Robb and Steffon held no such mirth in such an event. They were competitive brothers, wanting their own little one to win. Every once in a while, a quip would leave their mouths whenever one brother managed to get the upper hand, and when it was lost, they frowned and focused back on the fight.

"Prince Steffon," a feminine voice called out to him, but his eyes would not stray away from the spar.

"What is it?" he asked, his ears keened on the conversation, and his focus on his little brother.

"I do not see Princess Joanna." He realized it was Isolde now by the tone of her voice. "She should have arrived by now." Steffon tore his eyes away Tommen and looked to the almond-shaped, hazel eyes of Isolde Prester. Her bronze skin shined indefinitely under the short-lived sunlight, making her seem aglow. All people who lived in the South seemed to glow better under the sun and seemed so pale, lacking of life whenever the grey clouds of the North stole the sun away.

Steffon looked around, searching for his sister, but he did not see her at all. It was a cause for concern, but then he realized his mother kept his sister for the morning meal. She probably decided that Joanna was better off stitching, thinking it suitable punishment for letting "wolf hands" save her this morning. Their mother was outwardly furious at such news, much angrier than Steffon thought she would be. "Instead of watching spars, I'm sure my mother decided that she'd rather have my sisters bond over stitches with the Stark girls," he quietly replied, eyes looking back towards the spar between his brother and Brandon.

"C'mon, Bran!" Robb yelled. "You can do it! Knock him down!"

It was refreshing to hear the shouts of encouragement between the Stark family. It wasn't anything like that in the royal household. Tommen had briefly turned to look at him, wanting some words of his own to revitalize his deflating spirit. This was what Joanna was good at and now it was left to him this time. All he could do was say it all with his eyes, giving a firm nod and a small smile. It seemed like enough because Tommen returned to the spar with new vigor. Their hits seemed less like whacks and more like careful thrusts and swings of an amateur who learned a few of the basics. The spectators were renewed with excitement and probably hoping the drill was near its fateful end.

This was no fight to show one's skill. This was just a fight who people cared of who the winner would be because one was a young lord and the other was a prince. This drill would not necessarily shape them, but just be gossip that few others will bring up whenever they coincidentally remembered it. Unfortunately, Tommen was the one who fell and Brandon Stark was the victor. Steffon sighed, bitter about the loss, but he turned to Robb Stark bearing more maturity than he felt.

"I see a future knight of your little brother," he said. "He won fair and true."

Robb's smile wasn't gloating and Steffon felt surprised by that. "Your brother is only eight." He looked back at Brandon, who held out his hand to help the youngest prince up. "Yet he could keep up with a boy older than him by two years. I think that's something worth being proud of."

"You're right." Steffon nodded, taking the compliment kindly as it was said. "Though Tommen isn't use to all that protection. My father would never allow such abundance of precaution, but I'm glad the North cares more about protecting their young." The corner of his mouth soon lifted. "Surely, _you_ won't need it."

The competitive air burst between them and Robb began to grin. "No, I don't. What would you prefer, My Prince? Live steel or the wooden swords?"

"Live steel. I'm not much fond of just splintering hands. Besides, this is a duel to test if you're worthy enough to wed my sister, and I must do better for her than merely testing a man with some wooden swords. After all, I won't just hand her off to just _any_ man."

The Stark boy had a twitch in his brow, probably not taking too kindly to what Steffon was insinuating. Robb may be a nice and honorable man, but if he was not strong enough to give a good spar then Steffon would adamantly fight against such a marriage. His sister had so many options, and he would not hand her off to someone who couldn't protect her. It was the reason why their father did not pursue Willas Tyrell. His mother and father held prejudice against those that weren't able-body, and to give their daughter to such a man? They wouldn't dare. They would rather give her to a sniveling coward like Lancel if he could swing a proper sword or give fly to an arrow well enough.

Ser Rodrik Cassel had walked over to them yet neither one of them had broken from the competitive stare they gave one another. "We want live steel, Ser Rodrik, and we'll wear the armor for it," Robb informed him, not bothering to stray his gaze.

The Master-at-Arms looked between the both of them. "Shall I bring you armor, Crown Prince, or do you have your own?"

"I have my own." Steffon turned to leave, servants flocking towards him with every intention of suiting him up. Because of the usage of live steel, they were made to wear proper battlements. Whispers were abound but Steffon paid no mind to them. The armor that began to be strapped and adorned was of inky black, polished to reflect any light off it brilliantly. The padded surcoat was gold with the head of a Stag perfectly stitched in black thread with a crown above its head, right between the strong, long antlers. He did not have any arms that would suggest Lannister unlike his brother, who divided both Houses on his surcoat to show that the both of them were equal. From his armor alone, Steffon realized, many would assume he did not share the exact same sentiment.

His sword, Storm's Eye, had been brought to him and the black scabbard with its grey, storm winds design made him remember when his father first got him the gift for his tenth birthday. _"You've practiced well with the mini hammer, boy, but I hear your hand with a sword in it is deft. I won't ignore it, and so I've brought you Valyrian steel. How does she look? Looks like she'll cut you down just from first glance, doesn't she?"_

He later learned that his father used the Valyrian steel swords in the armoury, to melt them down and forge this single great sword. Valyrian steel was hard to come by and not just anyone could get their hands on it. It made Steffon the happiest boy alive to know his father had gone through such lengths just to give him a sword made of it. Even though Robert was biased, wanting his son to wield the hammer more than any other weapon, he did not deny him the right of a sword. As much as Steffon wanted to believe it came from a good place, he had half a mind to believe it was because Robert wanted to keep his own legendary hammer so he that could one day wield it in battle again. The future battles that he spoke of, nearly half a week ago, in the same breath of abdicating the Iron Throne.

With his sword strapped to his waist, Steffon slipped on the plain black helm. The Baratheon helm with the great antlers on either side was still in King's Landing because he promised himself that he would only wear such a historic piece when he entered a _real_ battle. It might not be ever in this lifetime, but he would still keep his self-made promise and just wear a regular black one until then.

When he turned to face Robb Stark, the boy was donned in grey armor with a wolf's helm of his House. Fierce-some as such a thing looked, Steffon remembered that this was just a boy who never left the comfort of Winterfell. He never fought with men outside the Northern way and that should make Steffon confident enough that he would win. Perhaps it was a good thing Joanna would not be here to witness this or else she would notice just how smug her brother was indefinitely feeling right now.

"Show-offs," Joffrey commented, nose upturned. "You act as if this is a melee tourney. Do you think Robb Stark can wound you even without so much armor, Steff? You give him too much praise."

"Really, Joff?" Steffon looked away from Robb and rested them on his younger brother. "Would you care to take my place then? You were supposed to spar him before me, weren't you?" It hadn't come to mind that Joffrey was the one to speak this spar to life and had right to first fight. "I didn't see you eager to fight and that's why I stepped in." It was true. His brother hadn't said a word to intervene and remind him that he was going to spar the Stark heir first. It seemed as though when Joffrey saw armor and steel, he allowed them to continue. "Here, I'll give you my armor to make up for my forgetfulness." Joffrey flinched a bit at the suggestion, his eyes widening some before he snapped his jaw closed in a tight clench. "I'll even let you use Storm's Eye."

All eyes were on his brother, who looked around as people waited for his reply. Clearing his throat, his brother managed to school all his fear and anger in a manner of seconds. "You're already suited up," he retorted, "it would be a waste of time."

Steffon smirked, amused that his brother could rightfully pretend he had no intention of taking the spar this far. As soon as turned back to face Robb, he had himself already fixed to a proper stance. "Ready?" Ser Rodrik raised his hand, signalling them to best make themselves prepared for a spar. A second's delay would only mean that you put yourself at a disadvantage. All had gone quiet, conversations ending abruptly, and all eyes were on the Baratheon Crown Prince and the Stark heir. "Begin!"

Steffon took initiative to perform the first attack, leaping forward to swing his sword in an arc, making the silver of the steel give a shine that could outdo a waning, silver quarter of the moon. Robb wasted no time, not a single hesitation was given, when he lunged his sword forward so the two blades could meet with a metallic clang. The both of them were forced to fence back and forth, equipped with strength they refused to give less of for the first minute of the bout.

The clang of swords rung in a continuous loop with each sharp edge of their blades meeting one another's just by a different angle, a different weight, and at a different speed. When neither Steffon nor Robb could find a position to overpower the other after time spent shifting the balance of the weight pressed put into other's sword hand's, they opted to take several steps back. Steffon couldn't help but grin as the two began to circle one another, their fingers flexing on the grips of their sword's handle.

Robb was a much stronger and better fighter than Steffon anticipated, but Ned Stark was no amateur swordsman himself. He heard the story of the North's Warden of when he fought with Ser Arthur Dayne and lived. Steffon's own father always proudly boasted that it was Ned Stark who won the Battle of the Bells for him too. It should've been expected that the son of such a notorious man should be near or of a higher skill than his father, but Steffon's own conceitedness doubted him for a single moment. Still, no matter if he was wrong or not, it just made the spar a little more fun than he anticipated.

"Why not the hammer, My Prince?" Robb questioned, some volume put into his voice so that Steffon could clearly hear him. "Shouldn't the Crown Prince keep to the way of the hammer as his father?"

"My skill with the hammer is not amateurish if that is what you think". Another circle they walked as Steffon's eyes tried to observe for a better angle to attack. "The hammer only serves the purpose to kill and we are merely sparring, Robb Stark. I won't strike a man dead unless I must."

Robb's helm made it difficult for Steffon's to see the expression he wore, but he doubted that the Stark took offense. He only meant that he harbored no intention of killing or maiming. This was a spar for him to give his blessings should Robb Stark be the man that he approved his twin of marrying. Not only would they be good-brothers, but he hoped to possibly create a lasting friendship to continue the alliance of House Stark and House Baratheon with or without the means of a marriage.

Robb now lunged forward for the first attack, and Steffon's sword barely deflected the blow since he was caught by surprise. The shrill sound of steel sliding against the flat surface of Valyrian, made his ears ring and he could tell that the sound seemed to catch in the ears of their audience as well since they visibly winced. Robb would not be deterred by sound or deflection, for he continued the aggressive attacks without thinking better of it.

Robb came striking, sword moving in an arc right at Steffon's torso. Perhaps it was by the grace of the gods that it missed him by what felt like a precise centimetre. Steffon staggered back, Robb swung again, and he missed, but managed to let the tip of his blade glide against the surcoat and rip it clean open. Steffon was definitely impressed, how could he not be? Smirking, he realized that allowing Robb's sword to even cut his surcoat only served to make him angrier. Not at Robb, but at himself.

Steffon released a backswing, skimming Robb's armor. Once Robb took a moment to scramble his next move, Steffon brought his sword down for what would be the last strike of the bout.

 _ **JON**_

"He won?" The Princess looked confused, almost as confused as he did. It looked for sure that Robb was winning during that second half, but Steffon came back with a vengeance. While disappointed his brother didn't win, Jon couldn't help but deem the spar the best he ever seen and that's not saying much since he lived in Winterfell all his life. The North didn't hold tourneys like they once did and all his spars had been with Robb in the tiltyard with Ser Rodrik teaching them and Jory sometimes participating and giving pointers. Robb showed finesse and could've easily won, had he just been a bit swifter, that left no room for the Crown Prince to dodge. If Jon were allowed to have participated, he definitely would've made speed his priority than strength, but his advantage wouldn't have been fair since he caught Steffon's strengths and weaknesses from the spar.

"By a hair…" Arya mumbled, face all scrunched up so that her disappointment was written all over it. "I thought for sure that Robb was going to win."

Jon couldn't help but lift the corners of his mouth. "The Crown Prince still won and he won fairly, little sister." They both had wanted their brother to win, but if he were to lose, then losing valiantly as he did just now was still worth being proud of.

His eyes focused back on the tiltyard, watching Steffon and Robb shake hands with their helms removed. Prince Steffon held a large grin on his face and Robb was laughing. It wasn't fair, really, that because he was a bastard that he could not participate. He was left to watch like the outsider he was while Robb enjoyed the fruits of being a trueborn son.

"Does that mean Robb will spar with Joffrey next?" Arya asked him.

"I hope not," Joanna mumbled. "My little brother isn't much of a swordsman. I'm afraid it would be a losing battle from start to finish."

"Then why did he suggest a spar?" Arya curiously asked the same question Jon had been wondering. "If he's afraid of going against Robb with live steel then they can go back to the wooden ones."

Jon saw the look on Joanna's face, her lips in a smile that was small and strained. He never took the time to really look at her because he thought staring at a princess would be insulting if she became aware of it. Since Joanna was too engaged in conversation with Arya, he used the time to get a full look of her. Joanna was what songs were made for when the bard sings of tales of queens, princesses and ladies of terrible beauty. Most beautiful girls like her had unfortunate endings because the men around them would rather war the world to keep them than to let them be happy.

His aunt was a good example of that, but she wasn't even a terrible beauty. She was no Queen Naerys or even a Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was so beautiful that two men ripped Westeros in two just to have her. Joanna is the opposite of her in every way, even by appearance from what his father told him of his aunt. She's a girl with a crown of gold, ivory skin that was unblemished and smooth due to years of immense pampering, and a neck as long and white as a swan's. The bards would truly sing of her until there were no more bards left to sing.

He supposed Robb had every reason to be curious of her for Jon figured that any man would naturally be overjoyed to marry her. She was neither bold nor confident, she was a timid one and easily persuaded, at least from his perspective. Arya could tell the Princess anything and Jon was inclined to believe that the Princess would accept his sister's words as truth. Joanna was naïve and it was written all over her face and even from the way she stood. Jon preferred his women much bolder than the likes of a harmless princess, but what he liked and what he wanted were two different things. He would want Joanna because she was beautiful and sweet, a princess and of two Great Houses, but he would've liked for her to be strong and much more confident; the total opposite of what she was.

Slipping out of his reverie, Jon's eyes looked to his little sister as he spoke. "You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You'll be sewing all through Winter. When the Spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers."

Whipping her head to face him, he got a full look of how little Arya was amused with his jape. "I hate needlework!" she shouted, passionately. "It's not fair!"

"Nothing is fair." A harsh lesson, but one that she needed to learn. His hand reached to muss her hair and as soon as he placed his hand on her head, the Princess cleared her throat to demand attention.

"I'll go with you," Princess Joanna suggested to Arya, "to face the septa and your lady mother. I'll say you were with me and that I swept you away from the needle lessons so that you and I could watch the spar together."

Jon rose a brow, his eyes quickly looking down at his sister, whose smile had nearly taken over her entire face. "Really? You would lie for me?" she asked, rightfully so, "Won't you get in trouble? You weren't in the tiltyard where you were supposed to be."

"And I'll say I was up here with you," Joanna wrinkled her nose in a playful manner, "and why wouldn't they believe it? I doubt the Septa and your mother would find I have reason to lie." The Princess was more cunning than he thought, and it took him by surprise. Just how many things had she lied about before? Arya looked relieved, knowing how Lady Stark would saw it fit to punish her for skipping lessons "But before you and I confront your mother and the Septa," Joanna's eyes slowly raised to meet his, "could I speak to your brother alone for a moment?"

Jon's body had gone stiff at her suggestion and Arya's brows drew together in confusion. She looked at him and then back at the Princess, possibly wondering to herself what they could possibly speak about alone. "But why?" Unafraid to ask, Jon nearly smiled at how protective Arya was of him. "He's not going to get in trouble, is he?"

"No," Joanna shook her head fervently, "of course not. I just want to say a few words to him, that's all."

Arya remained hesitant, even more so than before now. She whipped her head to look back up at him, her eyes big and full of worry. She wouldn't leave until he gave her a satisfactory answer, but all he could do was nod and smile to ease her. For a moment, she looked as if that had not been enough and pried her lips apart to protest until he nodded more sternly this time. She gave in, reluctantly and quietly. She practically dragged her feet, looking over her shoulder to look at him and Joanna every three minutes. The Princess glanced over her shoulder, waiting until Arya became less and less out of earshot before she turned her head to look at him.

"Forgive me," she suddenly said, startling him. Her thumbs were circling each other as the rest of her fingers were interwoven. "I want to apologize for coming here and interrupting your quiet watch of the spar. It was rude of me to do so."

Her apology left him stunned. She was the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms; why should she apologize for interrupting him? She could inconvenience him anytime she liked because she was the Princess and he was but a bastard. His feelings shouldn't have mattered to her, not even in the slightest. "There's no need for an apology, Princess Joanna. You can roam wherever you wish." It was true, no matter how he felt about it. "It is me that should be sorry for making you feel uncomfortable."

Her smile was a sad one, the corners that were slightly upturned had suddenly dipped. "You didn't make me feel uncomfortable. I don't know what it is like to be a bastard, but I know how unfair it is. Not from experiencing it, but by witnessing it."

 _If you never experienced it then you don't know what it's like_ , he vehemently thought. He didn't want her pity and she was full of it; her eyes were just green pools of saturated pity for him. "My father has several bastards," she began with a weak voice, "my mother believes it to be six-and-ten to be exact." Jon stood there, shocked at the large number of unclaimed bastards Robert Baratheon had spread about. "I've only met one and his name is Edric Storm." Her weak voice suddenly found strength, and her pitiful gaze had soon ebbed away and brightened. "I love him just as much as I love Tommen and Joffrey. My mother hates him, however, and she hates my eldest sister Mya even more. My father once threatened to bring Mya to court after Joffrey's misbehavior, but I heard rumors that my mother threatened to harm her if he dared."

He watched as she lowered her head timidly, eyes looking down at the stone floor. She seemed emotional just talking about her half-blood siblings and he couldn't help but envy them. Their own father wanted to defy his wife to bring his daughter to the Red Keep, possibly give her the Baratheon name, but chose not to because the Queen would bring them harm. His father only defied Lady Stark once and that was by bringing him here and keeping him. Any other time, well, it was a brittle bridge his father had to walk on.

"As I said, I don't know what it feels like, but I am fully aware of how unfairly bastards are treated. So I'm sorry for coming here and possibly putting you in trouble or danger. I should've left when I saw you here and not let your sister convince me to stay. I don't wish any harm to befall you because of my presence from just being here."

She was mindful, just for him. She was mindful because she understood that any interaction between them had to be supervised because bastards were said to be born of rape or passion, and they wouldn't have trusted him near her. She was sorry for putting him in a position that could have him killed if the King or Queen demanded it, and he found all the ill feelings that were brewing in him disappearing.

"Thank you." Jon smiled some as he spoke.

Joanna mirrored his smile with one of a happier note. "I do wish for us to be close, Jon Snow. If I am to be your good-sister, I think it is best my good-brother and I are on good terms."

Before him was a petite hand, free of calluses and perfectly manicured nails to show a life of being catered to. That very hand was extended for a shake, which was out of the norm for men and women to do. So he eyed her hand, just a minute more, before he took it for a less than proper, lightly-gripped shake.

He looked left to see Robb standing the tiltyard, turning in circles as if he was searching for someone. "I believe my brother is looking for you in the tiltyard. He's been looking forward to giving you a tour of Winterfell."

The blonde girl's cheeks suddenly flared a vibrant pink. She must've forgotten all about it because she began to cringe while gathering up her skirts just to hike them slightly above the ankles. "Shit!" Joanna cursed and paused once the words left her. Rigid as ice, Joanna lifted her head inch by overbearing inch to look up at him with her eyes as big as a fawn in an open forest.

Immediately, Jon knew that she had not meant to say it out loud or loud enough for him to hear. His lips trembled, trying his best not to laugh. "You didn't hear me say that," she hurriedly said, trying to make sure that he wouldn't tell a soul about it, "right?"

Stifling his laugh, he cleared his throat and nodded. "I didn't hear anything, Princess."

And just like that, he heard her heeled boots click against the stone as she ran, trying her best not to trip and fall or dirty her dress. Just a quarter way gone, he watched as she suddenly wobbled and he instinctively reached out his hand to help her until he assessed the situation. Her heel was stuck between a broad wedge between the stones of the bridge. She twisted her foot, gently and slowly to ease the heel out, which wasn't at all working from what he could see. She hadn't asked for help as she kept twisting and turning until she finally yanked it out and hopped a few steps forward just to make sure she hadn't fell face forward.

With both feet firmly planted, Joanna stiffly turned to look at him, but Jon quickly turned his head to avoid eye contact. He didn't want her to believe that he witnessed the whole incident.

"You didn't see that." Her voice was quaking with embarrassment.

It was the sight of Robb, helm in hand and head occasionally turning in hopes for the arrival of the Princess that made him swallow his laugh. "I didn't see anything, Princess."

 _ **ROBB**_

The hand that was held out to catch the towel Theon was supposed to give him had remained empty. Instead, Theon had thrown at his face because the Greyjoy found it funnier. With a sharp pull, he removed it from his head roughly, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. "You ought to get ready. You'll be fighting Prince Joffrey next." He hadn't considered that, especially since Joffrey didn't seem keen on using live steel. "Give the royal prick a few cuts, will you? I wanna see if he bleeds Lannister red or Baratheon black." Robb couldn't help but mirror's Theon smirk, who was more than eager to see Joffrey be beaten down a few pegs.

His smirk, however, faltered when Princess Joanna arrived with his little sister, Arya, at her side. The both of them were talking and whatever it was about, it made the Princess laugh while Arya's eyes eagerly drank up her reaction with a grin. How could he not feel an ounce of guilt that he was boastfully considering on beating her young brother? But surely, more than anyone, Joffrey's own sister could see how much of an ass he was. She probably even saw it worse if not more often than he ever could.

"Robb!" Arya called his name. "Is the sparring done yet?"

While he smiled at Arya, he did his best to avoid Joanna's gaze. While the guilt did set in, his mind couldn't help but think of this morning in the godswood. How could he forget any of it? How he found her sitting on the branch of the heart tree, playing some sort of game with Bran and having no explanation because she was flustered to be discovered by him. Then having to catch her as she nearly fell to the ground because of one missed step on her way down. It was the first time he held a girl that wasn't family in his arms and what man could ever forget something like that? The memory is still so fresh; it's entirely vivid because nostalgia didn't have time to set in yet.

"I'm supposed to be sparring Joffrey." He inclined his head towards her younger brother, who was talking to Steffon with his face pinched. Whatever it was that was being said, Robb had an idea that Joffrey wasn't liking any of it. "It looks like our tour will have to wait, Princess."

Joanna nodded quietly, folding her hands. "You…" she trailed, pursing her lips as she seemed to bring herself in the realm of thought. "You were good." Hitching a brow, he wondered what exactly she meant by that. He knew she meant he was good in the spar, but since he met her, he had no idea how she meant by anything really. "You're a good fighter is what I mean," Joanna quickly clarified, clearing her throat some. "I've seen many melee tourneys, but… you hold grace. Finesse, I suppose would be the better word."

It felt infantile to smile at her compliment, seeing as she had a hard time to word it properly to him. But he smiled anyway, telling himself not to laugh or else she might be offended. "Thank you, Princess."

Joanna did not look at him, but instead focused her eyes on her two brothers that were not finished with conversation. "If you can beat him then so can I!" Joffrey nearly shouted, his older brother closing his eyes briefly.

"Joffrey…" Steffon tried to calm his brother, but it wouldn't work.

The younger prince snatched the sword out of Steffon's hand before sharply turning his head to his Lannister men. "Bring me my armor!" Turning around, he looked at his brother with unbridled anger. "You think I'm just going to back down like some coward?!"

The Princess hurried her feet towards her brother. "Joffrey, you're not deft with the sword. You're an archer, how can you fight him?" Her worry was clear in her voice and Robb watched the way her young brother bowed his brows at her. "You'll only get hurt—"

"I'll be fine! You're worse than mother!" he snapped, beyond any sort of reasoning. "I didn't ask for your advice and I didn't ask for you to care." With a wave of his hand, he completely dismissed her as if she been some servant buzzing in his ear like a fly. "Away with you before you give me a headache. You shouldn't even be here, you should be somewhere stitching and not inserting yourself with the matters of men." And just like that, the Princess bowed her head with her expression full of hurt and shame.

When Steffon was about to go forward, obviously to scold their brother, her hand grabbed his wrist and she shook her head while it still remained low. Even after Joffrey's cruel outburst, she protected him. Robb continued to watch his eyes observing the quiet conversation between the twins before his eyes icily slew over to look for Joffrey. He was being suited up in his gold armor and red surcoat, face still bearing one of annoyance. All his sister did was try to protect him and he spoke to her as if she was nothing but a nuisance. Robb took a step to give Joffrey a piece of his mind, but Theon's hand grabbed by the shoulder rather roughly in efforts to stop him.

"Talk isn't gonna solve anything," said Theon, voice low enough for only Robb to hear him. "Make him bleed instead. He'll come crawling into his sister's arms like a baby if you discipline the royal prick."

Wounding him would only make matters worse, Robb knew that. Even if he wanted to give the Prince a low show of mercy, he couldn't do it. His sister fought to keep him safe and what would he look like by enforcing the very reason she wanted to protect Joffrey from this spar? Beating him was just good enough.

"Ready, Robb Stark?" Joffrey held Storm's Eye, looking at the gallant blade of Valyrian steel as it shined in the brief sunlight. "My brother used this to beat you, but I'll do more than just that." The smile on his face was twisted and matched well with his foul attitude.

Robb did his best not to look so angry, but trying his best and actually doing it were of two different things. "We'll see about that, My Prince." Before he moved to place back on the wolf-shaped helmet, Princess Joanna had rushed over to him and grabbed him by his armored arm.

"Please don't hurt him." She was practically begging in the way she spoke and all in her eyes. "Joffrey is no swordsman and he won't last. Just…" Her voice became much softer, almost near a whisper. "Just take him down easily."

"You can't protect him forever," Robb said, watching as she gave a rather feeble nod, understanding that very fact. That may have been the problem with her brother. His arrogance was birthed by being coddled for too long and now he just thought himself even bigger than what he truly was. He needed to be humbled, but it's hard to humble a prince. "But because you asked me to, I won't hurt him."

She smiled then, genuinely and sweetly. It was the first time she ever smiled, so brightly and at him, since they shortly met. Amidst his awe, he hadn't even realized that no sound could overpower the constant, racing drum that filled his ears that was the sound of his own heart. He couldn't even hear a thought if he thought any as Joanna was the one to break their held gaze, just to sweep her skirts and make her way to Lady Prester.

It took more time than he would've liked to shake away the alien feelings that grew. He needed to prepare himself for the spar that Joffrey desperately wanted. Theon had handed him the sword he used earlier; a fine blade it was, not at all like Storm's Eye, but gave a good bout despite the lack of quality. Northern swords didn't have to be forge different or made of fancy steel to fulfill its purpose, even though Robb had always wanted to have a sword like Ice.

Rodrik signaled them to ready themselves, and Robb carefully watched Joffrey as he made his way in the sparring ring. Flexing his fingers against the sword handle, Robb wondered how far off Joffrey was in swordsmanship to have his older siblings so worried. If he was no better than the average swordsman then the Prince would be humiliated, but it was his shame to bear and shame well deserved. "Ready?" said Ser Rodrik as Robb squared his body, gripping tightly to the handle of the sword. "Begin!"

Joffrey charged first, Storm's Eye upheld to aim for a fore-swing and to follow it with a back one. He made it easy to figure out what he aimed to do, and so their swords met easily. Through the Wolf head helm, his only source of vision was seeing through its open mouth, he saw the fear deep in Joffrey's eyes as his Lannister helm had left him see the prince's face clearly. Because of that fear that danced across his green eyes, Robb found himself feeling even more merciful than he did before. With a resigned sigh, Robb pushed him back with his sword, making him stumble and stagger, but surprisingly not fall.

Joffrey recovered, quickly, with his fear morphing into determination. He then took another swing, arching the sword in a quick fashion that made Robb merely turn his sword to its flat side to deflect it. The Prince shouldn't have been smirking, Robb already saw the next attack before it began as Joffrey turned left, swung his sword in which Robb met with a swift parry. Joffrey did not think of strategics, he merely meant to move. He possibly figured that he could tire Robb out and that's what would make this spar end with a sound defeat.

Robb pushed forward, swinging a number of attacks to Joffrey's minimal defense. The first strike met Storm's Eye, but the third sliced through the Lannister-Baratheon surcoat right at his side. If he was not kind, he could have maimed him; the sword was begging to meet flesh and he nearly gave in. Startled by how close the sword's edge was to wounding him, Joffrey swung in such a hurry and Robb's measly sword took the blow as if it was nothing. Tightening his grip, he smashed Joffrey with an attack that was strong enough to weaken his wrists. Joffrey had dropped Storm's End, shocked that he lost his grip, and Robb watched the Valyrian steel lay on the grass in defeat.

"It seems this spar is over, Prince Joffrey," Robb said, bearing no smile as he couldn't help but feel delighted. Shock wore off the prince's face and anger soon took its place. "You did well." It was a short bout and one that he doubted Joffrey was proud of, but Robb still extended his hand. Joffrey looked at it heatedly and turned his head, denying him an honorable courtesy.

Tightening his jaw, he looked left where the Crown Prince and his sister stood, who looked at Joffrey with different expressions. Steffon looked detached but Joanna seemed worried still. She hadn't looked at him, not even once, and Robb wondered why. He thought she would be thankful or even praise him for doing what he said he would. Robb hadn't dwell on the thought much longer, but instead turned, ready to make his way to Theon, who was smiling with little pride. As he walked, however, he heard shouting.

"Joffrey, no!"

 _ **JOANNA**_

Time slowed once Joffrey scrambled to pick Storm's Eye off the ground. It became even slower when he found his grip and raised his arm to bring the sword down to cut Robb when his back was turned. Calling out Joffrey's name was a futile attempt to stop him, but time began anew as she realized Steffon wasn't at her side. Instead he had moved right in the middle of Robb and Joffrey, with his hand grabbing at the sharp edge of the sword. Blood dripped down from the palm of Steffon's hand where the sword made contact. Joffrey stood there rigidly, looking utterly horrified at what just happened.

Joanna saw clouds gather in Steffon's eyes and she knew that Joffrey found himself in a world of trouble. "You're that sore over losing a sparring match that you would strike a man down with his back turned and defenseless?" His words were like fire and she could feel Joffrey being engulfed by the anger of them from here. "Are you truly that disgraceful, Joffrey?"

She wished Steffon curbed his words, knowing that Joffrey wouldn't learn by a show of anger but reasoning. Still, she felt disgusted by what her little brother had nearly done and so she found herself unable to utter a word and kept herself quiet. "You should go reflect in your room and dare hope father doesn't hear about this." If Robert found out then he would… Joanna began to wring her hands, knowing that their father's punishment would never be kind. He would hit his son to keep them in line when incensed, especially if what he felt they had done disgraced themselves, and even worse the Baratheon name.

Finding the will to do some damage control, Joanna hurriedly went to her younger brother. "How about I tell the servants to let you have a bath and you rest until supper?" She hoped Joffrey would give into that. She hoped he would not fight this issue. "Steffon won't tell father of this and neither will I."

Steffon placed his sword in its belt at his hip, his hand still dripping with blood. Joanna looked at the wound and then up at her twin, who merely smiled in a way to give her reassurance that he was completely fine. Joffrey looked at her, still contemplating her suggestion. "Have them prepare my bath now," he muttered before walking away, flanked by Lannister guards and the Hound trailing slowly behind.

"You need to see the Maester," Joanna said, looking down at his hand and wishing she had something to staunch the bleeding.

"It won't kill me," Steffon dismissively stated as Robb took some steps closer. "Forgive my brother, Robb," he apologized in Joffrey's place, "he's never taken a loss well."

"That's putting it mildly," Joanna mumbled, eyes raising to look at the Stark heir. "I don't know what's gotten into him… This was too far, even for him."

Robb was angry, she could tell. The anger was all in his eyes, the dip of his lips, and the furrow of his brows. He just did not give it voice, but it was bleeding through his tone. "Thank you for saving me, Prin—"

"I told you before that there was no need for us to be so formal." She remembered him saying that when he first met Robb, Theon, and Jon in the courtyard. "Just call me Steffon and don't thank me for this. I didn't do it for you." Although he was merely teasing, Joanna thought he was telling a half truth. He may have not done it completely for Robb, but because it was right and he didn't want his brother to sully himself.

Robb's expression changed, becoming softer and a smile broke loose. Joanna felt that she liked him better that way, especially since he often looked friendly. Smiling truly suited him. "I suppose the tour of Winterfell will have to wait," Joanna mentioned rather sourly since she had run all this way just for things to end up how they did. Her mind still felt flares of embarrassment for nearly falling and having cursed in front of Jon Snow. "You need a bath and my brother needs his hand tended to."

That was very blunt of her, and she was sure Robb would take offense. She hadn't realized until it was too late that what she said made it seem that she thought him foul smelling. Steffon snorted, fighting not to snicker as he turned his head. "I-I didn't mean to say that you smell awful or anything like that!" She quickly tried to fix her mistake. "I-I just meant that you were in armor and you fought _both_ my brothers… You must want a bath, right? I…well…" She wanted to curse again. She wanted to scream a curse loud enough that the heavens could hear it so the gods can for once bless her with a stronger proclivity to think before she spoke.

All she ever seemed to do was find a reason for Robb Stark to laugh at her, but he hadn't laughed like this. He had burst out into a boyish fit of laughter, doubling himself up with his helm falling onto the ground and his arms around his stomach. Joanna was left to stand there, eyes at their fullest, soaking in the fit of laughter that had taken over him. She should be angry that he's laughing and not caring if she feels twice as bad she felt seconds ago. She should be inwardly cringing at how stupid she is for embarrassing herself for a third time. She should be afraid that Robb found her stupid than he found her humorous, but she felt none of those things.

Robb Stark's laughter was a sound that was too pleasant in her ears to attach it to negative emotions. In fact, his laughter had made her own lips bloom into a bright smile.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know most people keep the book canon of Robb being unable to use live steel, but he's seventeen in the beginning of the show and old enough to use live steel in a spar. It wouldn't make sense for him to be forced to use wooden swords when he's old enough in Rodrik's eyes now.

Joanna's FC is the infamous Gaia Weiss. I fell in love with her in The Legend of Hercules, so I picture Joanna how Gaia looked in that movie. Steffon's is Douglass Hickmann. He looks really, really fierce and pretty. I doubt he's acts, but his facial features in long hair suit Steffon to me. They might not have the exact eye or hair color ( as if that matters in Game of Thrones who don't pay attention to much of book canon themselves )that I'm using in this story, but I reference them for physical features.

Birdy: Sorry it took me a while to update. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

LunaEvanna Longbottom: I'm glad you love this story. c:

CherryBlossoms016: It would very strategic. Will it happen? _Who knows._ c: I think because it would be like a betrayal to Robert? Seeing as how he was so adamant about killing her and hating all Targaryens, it will be like he went again his own father. So, I can see why that outcome is few, but as you stated, it would be very strategic. I haven't read a story with Arya as the match over Sansa, which seems pretty different to me.

I think it's because Robb seems more realistic that way. He's a Stark, first born, and it is something Robert would be content with. Jon is still a bastard and although R+L is proved true, it would mean that such marriage would take a very long time. It would also mean that if Robert considered this ( since he considered on bringing Mya to court and possibly legitimizing her ) that it would pressure Ned to give Jon the Stark name and all hell will break loose. Not only that, Ned has to consider that Jon's secret parentage could be exposed by marrying him in the Baratheon line. But another problem is that Jon is the second son, and most kings would not marry their first born princess to a man second in line. Aegon is quite a potential match and the cons in that is that he wouldn't come to Westeros until much later because he's building his army. He has no reason to come to Westeros beforehand. Willas, well, Cersei and Robert are completely ableist and would not marry their daughter to a man with a handicap. Considering Cersei always speak so ill of Tyrion and both her and Robert thought Bran should die due his disability, I cannot see that happening. It's a powerful match and a less used route in these kind of stories, but Cersei and Robert would be strongly against it canon or otherwise.

Joanna doesn't have no Baratheon coloring, but I guess you can say that isn't completely true. Cassana Baratheon had green eyes herself and I didn't necessarily say Joanna has Lannister emeralds. So, in a way, she may not Baratheon blue, but she could have Estermont green.

RandalNubs: Thank you! Yeah, I don't want to rush any relationships because I want them to feel natural. I hope you enjoyed Steffon's pov and I'm really eager to write more of mature Loreon and Calla.

Sparky She-Demon: Did the spar go as you thought? I know it seemed likely Joffrey's spar wasn't going to go well considering he's no swordsman.

WhatsGoingOn: Healthy twin-love is a must!


	5. Summer is Coming to an End

**_STEFFON_**

The wound Storm's Eye inflicted upon his hand was not as deep nor as serious as his sister made it out to be. It was but a minor flesh wound, something that the Maester thought stitches and poultice could quickly take care of. Milk of the poppy had been offered to him despite the lack of severity, and Steffon had stubbornly refused it. He was a proud person, keeping his calm and cool as he told the Maester that he would do without it, for he deemed it unnecessary. But now, as the suture pierced flesh just to thread the gap together, he found himself somewhat regretting it. He fought not to flinch, and lightly chewed the inside of his cheek when the handling of the needle was somewhat rough. Steffon refused to appear weak over such a cut on his hand and not just that, he didn't want Joanna to believe herself right. While the poultice burned and the needle had hurt like all Seven Hells, he would not let one believe he wasn't made of iron; Steffon Baratheon was iron-forged smithed by the flames of fury.

As the last bit of the thread was severed, Ser Mandon Moore of the kingsguard had opened the door. "My Prince, Lord Stark comes to see you."

The announcement surprised him. Steffon immediately wondered if Lord Stark sought him because he had been informed what happened during the spars. Although Steffon promised not to tell another soul of what happened, it did not mean the others that came to spectate or even Ser Rodrik, did not feel the need to tell their lord of how Robb was in near danger. As much of a nuisance as that fact was, Steffon couldn't fault them for doing so. The only person at fault was Joffrey for letting his anger consume him. "Let him enter," Steffon said as the knight gave a firm nod and opened the door wide, letting the Lord of Winterfell walk into the guest-bedchambers.

Maester Luwin had risen from his seat quickly, bowing his head politely to his lord as he tucked his hands into his large, grey sleeves. Steffon, meanwhile, stretched his arm since it became stiff from being in one position for so long. The crack of his bones brought him relief mixed with spiked pain from his newly stitched palm. "How is the wound, Maester?" Ned asked Luwin, wanting the expert opinion and not the rumours. That was wise, Steffon mused. He definitely would've lied for the sake of appearances.

"Nothing serious, My Lord." Luwin replied, moving to gather his things so that he may promptly leave. The old Maester turned to him, his friendly face holding a small smile. "My Prince, it shall heal quickly and there's no risk of an infection. I say within a fortnight I should be able to remove the stitches."

"Thank you, Maester Luwin." Steffon thanked him, holding a small smile of his own to show he was grateful. The Maester dipped his head and left, leaving Lord Stark and Steffon alone in the room. Once the door had shut, Steffon lifted his blue eyes to look up at the Warden of the North. "I suppose pretending that you aren't aware of all that happened would be foolhardy of me."

There was a slight smile on Ned's face as he gave nod. "Yes, it would be, My Prince. I did not come here to lecture you, if that's what you have assumed."

The conversation felt lighter now that Steffon was reassured. All the tension in his bones melted away and he sunk down comfortably in his chair. "I want to apologize in my brother's place for what happened. I cannot give an excuse for his behavior for I am also ashamed of it."

"Prince Joffrey is young and most boys do not do take kindly to losing." He was being understanding, and Steffon wasn't sure why. His own son could've had a sword across his back if Joffrey wasn't stopped, but the Crown Prince was unsure whether it was because Lord Stark truly understood that some men were sore to losing, or perhaps he felt so compelled to forgive because this was his best friend's son. "You should not be ashamed for his actions… I've come to thank you for what you've done."

Steffon halfway smiled, eyes looking away from the North's Warden to stare absently at his wounded hand. "I did not do it for your son."

"I'm well aware of that. You did it for your brother," said Lord Stark, "and I commend you for that. There's nothing more admirable than a brother protecting his younger one, even from himself."

"What I did wasn't at all admirable." Steffon refused to take the man's compliment because a small part of him felt that he coddled Joffrey from getting the punishment he deserved. What kind of punishment would that be anyway? Their father would never give a well-deserved punishment; it was either severe or lax, never in the rightful in-between. No matter, Joffrey was his brother; his stupid, ignorant, little brother who once looked at him as if he was the strongest and bravest person in the world after their king father. "A man should always protect his family. I only did what I am supposed to do, Lord Stark."

"I'm beginning to wonder who raised you. Your father isn't as humble." Steffon chuckled, knowing that his father couldn't be humble worth a damn. Even if one was to obtain a dose of it through wine, Robert would push his first cup away.

"I see my father hasn't changed that much to you." Every child is curious of their parent's life prior to them. All Steffon had were stories and some were not so reliable. It was hard to discern what was truth or lies since people changed events and words said based on how they felt about a person. What was his father like prior to the rebellion when he was Steffon's own age or younger? He thought of it often, but he stopped asking when the answers always conflicted.

"I'm sure he has. People change over a course of years." There was something empty about Lord Stark's words and Steffon couldn't understand why. Perhaps Ned was fearful that Robert changed too much? It made sense. You thought you knew someone so well but after time and distance, they're not like the person you once knew and loved.

Ned gazed at the fire for a moment while Steffon eyed Loreon, who slept on his red pillow threaded with gold stitching and gold, yarn tassels on each corner of it. It was a bit luxurious for an animal, but this was Loreon. Although, he thought spoiling them was an advice they should take seriously from their grandfather, Steffon could let Loreon obtain and enjoy _some_ nice things and that pillow was one. The Hrakkar liked it too, which meant that the gift didn't go to waste. It fitted him; a pillow made for a lion of Lannister colors.

"Other than my thanks, I wanted to speak to you sooner regarding me becoming your father's Hand. Has he spoken to you about it?"

Surprised as well as confused, Steffon rose a curious brow. Why should Ned Stark care about his thoughts on the matter? He couldn't conjure up an answer right away since he was still much too stunned. When he found composure, the Crown Prince cleared his throat and spoke; "He has, but I knew Father would ask you once Lord Arryn was declared dead. There's not a man in Westeros he trusts more than you, Lord Stark. I also think you're more than capable of doing well as Hand." Adjusting in his seat, Steffon sat up a bit straighter for near perfect posture. He didn't want to look small to Lord Stark; he wanted to look more like a conscientious prince when it came to politics. "You value honor, which is admirable, but the South does not. Perhaps—and I say this lightly—you might have the power to make the South believe that ethics aren't unheard of. Although…" He lowered his head, shaking it as he had little hope that the South could change that drastically. "That may just be wishful thinking on my part."

The grey eyes of the Lord of Winterfell watched him for a minute more, possibly trying to decipher if this was mere flattery or an honest opinion. He scoured every bit of his face, looking for a tell-tale sign of dishonesty, but he would not find it. Steffon meant what he said and he had no doubt that the South needed some changes that Ned Stark could bring with all intentions of being equitable. There will be hard times, yet the Starks were made to adapt to harsh changes – _"Winter is Coming"_ , are their House words after all.

"If I may…" Ned said his words carefully, almost as if he worried that he might tread in dangerous waters. "It seems that this incident is not all that troubles you, My Prince."

Was it all so obvious? Steffon found himself displeased, mostly at himself. He was trying to mask all that he was feeling for the sake of appearances but as another day goes by without decision of his sister's likely marriage, he became paranoid. Should he learn to let her go for it was all he was able to do or should he be glad his sister will not leave him yet? Either choice felt wrong, but the latter was selfish. Joanna was a princess and a woman, she could not be his twin that was at his side forever. They both had their own lives to live, especially now that they were no longer children.

"How did you feel, Lord Stark, when it was announced that your sister was to marry my father?" Steffon felt he could trust the man. It wasn't simply over the fact that Ned Stark showed unquestionable loyalty to his father, but because he seemed like a genuinely good person. The mistrustful part of Steffon thought it wise to keep him at a distance as he kept everyone else, still a greater part of him thought it sensible to seek counsel, and a possible friendship with someone much older and wiser than he was. "Were you elated or sad? Did you feel empty that your sister was going to be taken from you or did you think my father could keep her safe?"

Stupid. Stupidly vulnerable he was for still not having the strength to accept Joanna leaving his side or even just the mere possibility of it. _She was his twin_. He kept saying, as an excuse for his troubles over the thought of parting with her. People should understand how vastly different it would be for them compared to normal brothers and sisters. However, it might be wrong of him to mention this to the man whose sister was kidnapped, raped, and possibly murdered. He never really understood what happened outside his father's perspective.

"I loved Lyanna with all my heart," Ned spoke, calm and collected, but the hurt was there. It may not have shown on his face, it only spoke volumes in his voice. "I trusted Robert and I told her that he would love her and treat her well. I trusted my sister's safety with your father, but I ignored her happiness. She was four-and-ten and marriage wasn't on her mind; beautiful and wilful, Lyanna was."

Did Lyanna not want to marry? If so, Steffon wondered how devastated his father would be to know that. Joanna was in a similar predicament, he realized. It wasn't that Robb was ill-suited, she just didn't want to marry yet. It was a choice, however, that she could never make. "I see you haven't told my father that. He loved Lyanna fiercely, and he still does."

"I know," Ned answered with a faint smile. "I never questioned his love for her. From what I can see, My Prince, you love your sister as deeply as I loved mine. The only advice I can give to you is that you should keep an open mind. I tried to make my sister see my way and I'll forever regret that."

Unsure of what he meant, Steffon looked at Ned with a curious expression. It would be too imposing for him to ask and he had already realized how nosy he was for simply prying on what should be a sensitive subject. Lord Stark could've kept it all to himself yet he didn't. Was it out of empathy or pity? Steffon didn't know and he didn't want to question it or feel it to be the latter. Perhaps Lord Stark could be a good force in his life in the years to come. For some reason, the future did not seem as easy to him as it once did and the only thing he could blame for that was his father talks of abdicating.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Summer was waning, she could feel it. Shafts of sunlight fought through grey boughs overhead, losing each and every time. Joanna wished she could encourage the sun to fight more fervently against the Northern clouds and air, she would look like a girl gone mad if she tried. All she could do was settle. She settled in hoping the sun could find a way, a way to please her for the sake of being gifted of its being; warm rays that poured out of it so naturally, delighting her skin with its summery feel.

It was just too despairing to believe that Summer's reign would end. Summer was all she had ever known, the fact that it would leave her so quickly, made her skin prickly and her mind anxious. There were no comforts of home. There were no drastic changes here in the North, only overwhelming ones. King's Landing was eternal Summer and now she may never feel that again.

In a minute's time, a shiver coursed through her; rattling her down to her very bones. Joanna didn't have the time to fight her teeth from chattering nor keeping her grip on Robb's arm from suddenly tightening. _How am I supposed to live here? It's so cold. How am I to survive? Can I survive?_ she thought, the voice inside her head weak and quiet in tone. She had to try, try her very best, and it felt like even that wasn't even the slightest bit of enough.

"Are you cold, Princess?" His question nearly made her jump out of her skin. They were silent for a little while now or at least since they left the warm confines of Winterfell. They met in front of the library's door and he led her around to tour as promised. He had shown her the small sept that Lord Stark built for his lady wife, sweet enough to honor her devotion to the Faith. Robb also let her see the Great Hall again, completely empty now compared to how full it was the last time she was there, and then took her to the Guards Hall. He taught her little history, thinking she would be interested by such a thing. She was—more so than she would ever likely to admit—but nodded and listened as if she held no thoughts or questions. "If you want, I could—"

"No!" she quickly interjected, rejecting whatever he was about to offer her without listening to it first. Her hold on his arm tightened a little, more so out of apprehensiveness than lack of resistance to the North's cold air. "No, I-I'm fine," she stuttered. Her nose, she worried, was probably red, at least it should be. Despite the glaring obvious, Joanna refused to be a burden and if this was to be her life, shouldn't she ought to get used to it? Her hands loosened their hold on him, her smile shaky. Her best… This was her terribly, weak best.

His brow arched, eyes staring rather intensely into her very own. He knew she was lying, Joanna could tell that he found her lies flimsy. He slid his arm from her grasp, leaving her confused and eyes searching the ground as her thoughts went haywire. Robb must've been upset about obvious tale and what could she say? Sorry for lying? Excuses upon excuses were conjuring up in her head and then all thoughts went quiet, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. Standing there, eyes wide as a doe's, she realized Robb placed his fur cloak on her shoulders.

"Why would you…" she began to say, voice half a whisper due to shock, "why…?"

The words couldn't seem to come out right despite how much she needed them. She stumbled over her words like a child caught in a compromising act. Her eyes lowered, just to watch his moving hands that were dressed in their Stark leather gloves. It would've been wise if Joanna thought to remind the royal seamstresses that she would be in need of some as well. Why hadn't she remembered that? _Because you are an idiot_ , she told herself harshly. Her eyes soon rose to look from up at his hands and at his face, seeing his brows scrunched due to the concentration of tying the strings together around her neck. Once in a while, he would adjust it so it that it looked neat, even though the cloak was so large, it looked more like it was trying to devour her.

Since he didn't notice her staring, she decided keep on doing so. His eyes, she noticed, were much paler in color up close; clear and startling. Joanna felt drawn to them with little reasoning. It could've been the minor fact that his eyes somewhat reminded her of what a cloudless sky looked like in King's Landing. She loves days like that; all that there is in the sky is sun, no white clouds to cover the endless and vast blue above. His eyes were clear and blue, just like that kind of sky.

Blue eyes shouldn't hold no fascination to her since Baratheons had natural blue eyes too, but eyes like Steffon's were completely different compared to Robb's or Tullys to be exact. Her brother's eyes were bold, tumultuous like the ocean water that could hide the depth underneath them just to reflect all that gazed upon their surface. Robb's, however, were transparent, letting you see what he was willing to share instead of feeling the need to hide.

Then he caught her; like a fawn that fell into a trap, staring into the eyes of the wolf.

Joanna was left utterly terrified and speechless. All words were stuck in her throat, not a single syllable could attempt to claw up and leave past her lips. Her throat was taut and hot, full of broken sentences and embarrassment.

"Is that better?" he spoke instead, and softly too. He always seemed to be the one to fix things while she broke them. She broke whatever lightness was between them and he repaired it with simple words. Afraid to speak nonsense, Joanna nodded her head quietly and thought a smile would suffice. She couldn't go wrong with that, could she?

He accepted her quiet response and offered his arm for her to take again. Joanna somewhat hesitated before letting her arm, covered by a Lannister red sleeve, reach out from what looked like a pool of black due to his cloak. He waited, patiently, apparently not vexed that she took her sweet time. That comforted her, no matter how small the gesture was. Linking her left arm with his, she kept his pace that he slowed for her sake. She already knew his strides were much longer than the ones he was doing now.

He brought her to the godswood, a place she had already seen and yet felt happy to look upon again. The white of the tree reminded her so much of pristine bones, which should be unsettling by thought. Disturbing as the thought was, it was what made such a tree breathtakingly beautiful to her. "This godswood has been untouched for ten thousand years." He turned his head to face her, but she hadn't bothered to notice yet. "Have you been to a godswood before or was yesterday your first time?"

"The Red Keep has a godswood." Joanna had let go of his arm, taking steps towards small and steady steps to the heart tree. "We don't have a heart tree like you do, which makes it less of a true one. There's a great oak with smokeberry vines all over its branches." It wasn't the same, she knew the one here was a true one while the one she had known was a false and possibly poor imitation.

"How can one pray to the old gods if there's no weirwood?" Robb questioned and she didn't have to look at his face to understand he found their false godswood distasteful.

"You pretend, I suppose." She didn't know and she never asked. The Seven, her mother always reminded her, were her one and only gods.

The air here was moist, and she felt like she could smell every leaf, every blade of grass, and the entire dark pool of water in one inhale. This place felt terrifyingly and exhilaratingly alive. Were the old gods watching her now? What's a Baratheon-Lannister doing in their untouched forest? Did they appraise her with eyes of disdain or curiosity? What did the old gods make of her?

"That seems…" he trailed, almost as if he didn't want to say what he wanted.

"Silly?" Joanna finished his sentence for him, turning to look at him with a playful smile. His cheeks reddened some, possibly embarrassed she knew his thoughts. Why else would he? Unless it was the cold wind, of course. "It is silly. As you say, how can you pray to the old gods if there is no weirwood? Who is listening to those prayers?" _No one_ , she couldn't help but sadly think.

"Though I suppose it shouldn't matter to you." His reply left her rather hurt. She shouldn't care because they weren't her gods? Is that what he thought? Did he just presume to think that she would look away if the matter wasn't of her concern? "You can pray to the Seven wherever you want. A sept is the proper place of worship, but my father always said that the old gods have no power in the South because there are no eyes for them to see."

A strange thought and one she never considered because she hadn't known. Her hand went to fiddle with the necklace around her neck but instead she touched the knot that Robb made that kept his cloak still resting on her shoulders. He noticed the movement, possibly wondering if she dared to pull the string and take it off. She hadn't and nor did she feel the desire to. "I didn't thank you for giving me your cloak. You must be cold…"

"Not at all," he assured her, feet crushing the red leaves that had fallen to the ground. He wasn't too far away from her now, possibly just an arm's length as he stood back to gaze upon the heart tree. "You needed it more than me." She smiled at that, feeling flustered and grateful. "My mother said a decision will be made tonight…" She knew what he meant without him saying it. The air had been filled with tension again and Joanna felt herself unable to barely breathe.

Tonight? Tonight. How did her entire world depend on one decision said tonight? _You are a lioness. A lioness does not tremble. A lioness does not let fear overwhelm her,_ over and over Joanna had chanted in her head until the words were stuck in a timeless loop.

"I never thought…" Robb began to say, eyes steadily fixed to the weirwood, "that I would possibly be marrying a stranger or the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms for that matter."

He was opening up to her and she wasn't so sure as to why. Perhaps he felt that they could bond over this despite them not knowing a clear answer? "I knew I was to marry soon," Joanna admitted, fiddling her thumbs nervously, "I just hoped it would to someone who was closer to home."

"Was there a man you fancied in the South?" He took what she said wrong. Joanna could barely give him a reaction except to rush her way in front of him, looking at him eye-to-eye.

"No, it's nothing like that at all!" Robb's smile was slight, almost like he was entertained by her surprise. "It's just… King's Landing is my home and Steffon is my twin. We've had distance between us before, just never this great. The thought of never going down the hall to see him or riding in a carriage to visit… It wounds me." Then there was leaving Myrcella and Tommen, Joffrey too. Joffrey may have been angry with her now or maybe for a while since he was a stubborn and grudge-bearing person. Still, her memories hold better visions of him and she holds them close to her heart. Lastly, she would be leaving her mother, father, and uncles. Her mother was most if not all of her world after Steffon. Joanna still needed her… She still needed her mother to make her understand the complexities of a woman's world.

"I can't quite relate," Robb replied, "I've always been prepared for a day where my brothers and sisters will leave Winterfell by marriage or having holdfasts of their own." Or it could've been the fact that he was better groomed. Joanna, herself, had known that her attachment to her family was a little less than healthy. Her mother encouraged it and Joanna hadn't bothered curing it. "How do you feel about the idea of marrying me? We're still strangers and our say in the matter is limited, but I want to know how you feel about it."

Her Uncle Tyrion always said she should speak more about her feelings and what's on her mind. He also said to be careful of who she spoke those feelings to as well. Whether it was because of the Northern boy's kindness or because he might be her lord husband, she trusted him enough to heed her uncle's advice. "We are still very much strangers," Joanna agreed, voice soft and low, "but I do look forward to knowing you. If we are to marry, I do not foresee myself to be unhappy. Even if you and I are to never love each other, I hope we can at the very most be friends."

All the air she hadn't realized she had been holding left her in one, sweet sigh. Her mind felt clearer and her shoulders didn't feel weighed down. Her eyes soon looked back up at Robb Stark, who had a leaf stuck in his auburn curls, had the warmest smile on his face. "I hope so too, Princess."

"Joanna," she insisted, "just call me by name. Friends don't call each other by titles, do they?"

"Are we friends already?" His brow arched, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

"The first step of friendship is to already believe that you are friends." Raising her chin, she pretended to be haughty; you could say she mirrored her mother, who only knows how to be haughty. "I thought you would know better, Robb Stark."

Breathing out a chuckle, Robb shook his head. "You're right." He then looked back at the weirwood, head slowly tilting back to fully look up at it. "Could you show me how you climbed the weirwood? I've never been quite as good as Bran is."

Flustered, Joanna's face blossomed red. "No."

"And why not?" He was smirking, eyes crinkling at their corners. "You're quite good at it."

Gathering her skirts, she lifted them enough so she couldn't snag her dress on stray sticks that were once part of the branches of the tree. "I wish you would forget you saw me up there." Once she heard he was following her, she picked up pace, and began to run.

"Joanna!" Robb called out her name, laughing, amused that she felt embarrassed about that whole situation still. "It's not so bad. So what if you can climb trees?" Joanna had let go of her skirts, placing her hands over her ears as she ran.

"What did you say? I can't seem to hear you!" Despite feeling abashed, Joanna's lips were in the biggest smile as Robb chased her out of the godswood.

 ** _CERSEI_**

The sweet taste of the summer wine lured her for more, even more so as she could see her daughter prancing around with the Stark boy like a besotted fool. She warned Joanna, she told her to keep appearances but the girl disobeyed her. Couldn't she see? The Starks _wanted_ this. They wanted to sweep away such a pure, gentle girl away and make them one of their own. They wanted to take something they weren't good enough to have, just like their Lyanna who took Rhaegar when he was never meant to be hers. Rhaeger, the mighty dragon prince, was meant to be Cersei's _._ He was supposed to be her husband and king. Now this Robb Stark and his wolf family was stealing away her daughter and Joanna was allowing herself to be stolen. Another swig of the drink hadn't settled the boiling anger that was rising from the depths of her core and dared threaten to consume her entirely.

"Look at what you've done," she said through thinned lips at her king husband, who sat at the desk rummaging through some letters he didn't even want to read. Sometimes he did his duty, half-well, but he attempted. "Our daughter is making a fool of herself."

"What is it now, Cersei?" Robert got himself to his feet and walked over to the window, trying to see what she was seeing. Her eyes slew right to see his expression and as she expected, a glimpse of a smile was on his lips but utterly beaming in his eyes. "She and Ned's boy are bonding, what's so wrong with that?"

"She is the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and she's running around unchaperoned with a suitor." Robert briefly looked at her before rolling his eyes as he made his way back to the desk. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted her to marry Robb Stark, all so you could live vicariously through our daughter by being bonded to one. How could you make such a decision without consulting me?" So what if he was the King? She was _the Queen_ and Joanna's mother. Her thoughts and feelings should be shined upon greater light concerning her first daughter. How dare Robert think that he could just rip their daughter away without her having any say on the matter? She allowed him to have plenty of say-so regarding most of Steffon's life because Steffon was the future king.

"It is what I want and what I want will be, Cersei." His voice was warning her, warning for her to not take that step to the edge he was teetering on. He was growing annoyed by her frank disapproval of this marriage and she didn't care. He could jump off the very ledge if he wanted. As queen and as a mother, she had every right to be involved in the lives of her children. She raised them. Robert was only there when he damn well wanted to be.

Cersei's clutched tightly to her goblet. "There is nothing to be gained. You have Ned Stark's unwavering trust and loyalty. What is to come out of marriage of his firstborn son and our firstborn daughter? She should be marrying someone who could be of more use." Like Lancel. Lannister strength in the Baratheon household would only prove well and wise. She'd rather Joanna be renamed Lannister than Stark.

"Steffon will be king," Robert began to explain, "and when me and Ned are too damn old to be fighting any wars or in our graves, I want a Stark close to the Baratheons, fighting at his side should another war come. The only way to do that is by uniting our Houses by blood. Steffon will need a House loyal to him as the Starks have been to me. If it weren't for Ned, you wouldn't damn well be queen, woman."

His point did prove true, she could bitterly admit. Steffon needed allies, loyal and that stuck to him as honey on the fingers. Who knows if once he is crowned, someone might think themselves better for the throne. For all of Robert's faults, he seemed to have thought this one course of action through. He was wrong about one thing however. Ned Stark did not make her queen. She was always meant to be. _A witch even once told her so._

"And what of Joffrey?" Cersei asked. "Are you planning on marrying him off as well?" Her eyes glanced back at the window, seeing Joanna standing before Lady Stark. A curious brow rose, wondering what the woman came to see to her daughter about. Cersei couldn't quite well read what the woman's thoughts were about Robb and Joanna marrying, she kept a masked face, which was more than irritating. Joanna didn't seem upset from what she could tell so as long as the woman did not dare overstep her boundaries than all was well.

"I'm to seek counsel from your father about that," Robert answered her. "If Joffrey is to be Lord of Casterly Rock then none other than Tywin Lannister could say who should be the one he marries." It wasn't that Robert thought to ask her father, it was because he knew that her father would demand input. Cersei was no fool, she knew Robert never cared for her father, but liked him well enough since if it weren't for the Tywin Lannister, he is the one that would not be king.

 ** _CATELYN_**

Her mind was nearly made up and one of the only things left to do was to know the Princess for herself. She suggested this moment of bonding over tea and now it was finally time. Catelyn surmised herself as a person who could read a person well, and just these past three minutes with Princess Joanna… she felt she understood a lot more of her than what mere conversation would inform her. Proper etiquette was ingrained in her, not a slouch or a mishaps as Joanna tilted the cup forward to drink a sip of the hot, black tea. While she had learned that the girl was fond of white tea exported from the Jade sea, the North could not afford such an expensive brew. All Catelyn and the North had to offer was black tea, which the Princess did not seem to show outward displeasure to.

The only fault she found in the Baratheon princess was her overly shy nature. Joanna did not meet her eyes long, opting to look down rather meekly and her voice sounded like it was just an increment above a whisper most of the time. A princess with skin that soft? How did she survive the South? But it makes sense that she was sheltered, coddled for most of her life. Cersei certainly seemed to hover over the girl, almost like she couldn't accept her daughter having a mind of her own that was not approved by her. She noticed that after watching a few exchanges whilst out of sight and out of earshot. Now that Joanna was by herself, Catelyn assumed she could meet the true her through some prodding.

"I've never been to King's Landing," Catelyn began the conversation, a small smile on her lips. She then took a silver spoon and began to sweeten her tea with sugar from the sugar-dish. "But I hear that it is warm, very much different than the North. Would such change make you uncomfortable, Princess?"

Joanna angled the teacup under her chin, looking down in thought before lifting her eyes to meet Catelyn's own. "It is quite an adjustment. From the Neck to Winterfell, I experienced cold weather for the first time. I should be honest to say that I have not taken to it well, but I am sure I can adapt."

Her sudden confidence was surprising. With a brow raised and her eyes tilted with bemusement, Lady Stark hoped to capture the girl's meaning behind her words. "Is that your way of informing me you are willing to marry my son?"

Quickly, the Princess placed the cup down on the white, little teaplate. "Your son never was the issue for me, My Lady. The thought of being leagues away from my family is what troubles me."

An understandable notion, one that Catelyn could empathize. She, too, had to give up her family to travel in a foreign land to marry a man she hardly knew. "But you have become fond of my son. Fond enough that marriage does not displease you."

Joanna's face, across the cheekbones, had slowly brightened red. "I daresay your son and I are on our way of being friends. I would not say I'm as fond as you are implying." Robb could make any girl's eyes moist with infatuation, Sansa's friend, Jeyne, was an obvious example. Even the younger princess, Myrcella, seemed taken with him. Not to mention Alys Karstark as well. Her son was handsome and friendly, he was also the heir to Winterfell; Robb could have any woman he desired but did he want Joanna? She hadn't asked him yet.

"Ned and I were strangers when we married," Catelyn informed her, "and we became friends when he returned from the Rebellion. It is easy for love to find a way from friendship."

She watched as the Princess bore a look of thought. "Even if love does not find a way, Lady Stark, your son is kind and good to me and I should hope he feels that I am the same to him. Love nor friendship is not what marriage is about, it is about upholding duty and binding Houses. It is about making heirs so that a dynasty does not die."

Her voice lacked emotion despite there being no fault in her words. Catelyn wondered if this had been rehearsed or if this was a bitter medicine of truth that the Princess finally learned to swallow. Every girl hoped to marry for love, but love was foolish and duty laid atop of love like a stone over the heart. "If this conversation has troubled you, Princess, I ask for forgiveness."

"I am not troubled, Lady Stark." Joanna smiled, genuinely and warmly. "I'm simply ashamed at how childish I have been feeling as of late. I know what it is expected me yet I harbored such a belief that I should be free from such obligations that I was born to fulfill. I wish I realized it sooner and accepted it instead of trudging my feet, My Lady."

Honest and kind, Robb needed that. She still had some more growing, more grooming, but Catelyn could see it. There was a formidable force in her, weak it was now, it just needed time to bloom instead of remaining such a small sprout.

The red-haired woman picked her teacup up by the handle and took one silently slow drink.

All that was left was to know Robb's feelings of it all.

 ** _STEFFON_**

His blue eyes trailed up the building, head in a curious tilt with his cloak's hood over his head. From the outside, The Smoking Log looked modest, rustic, and even somewhat cheerful. The stones were stacked and grey, making up the entirety of the building's outer structure. The small windows don't show you much, but you could hear the sounds of the customers inside; loud and drunk. It was the first time Steffon managed to come to alehouse and he didn't think his first time going to one would be during his stay in Winterfell.

"When I said let's show him some of the winter town," Jon's said as his eyes slew right to the Greyjoy, "this is not what I meant."

"Ah, Jon," sighed Theon, whose eyes were alight with mischief, "you know that a tour of the town isn't complete without some ale and the working ladies." The old, wooden door was pushed open by Theon, who waltzed right in without so much a hesitant itch to his step. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. Steffon was already aware that Theon indulged in most of his pleasures without restraint.

Robb clapped Jon's shoulder, somewhat pushing him in since Jon had no real interest coming here so late within the evening. Steffon walked alongside them, eyes curiously gazing at the many faces and decorations of the place. Perhaps it was due to the newness of it all that he found the place enchanting. There were several walls made to support the upper floor, paintings of brooding men and solemn women as well as mounted animal heads. He did hear it served as an inn as well, which was probably why it was so much larger than he expected. Steffon couldn't enjoy much of the decoration since the alehouse itself was quite packed. There were long tables occupied by separate groups of people, all enjoying themselves whilst also keeping to them very selves.

The smaller tables seemed to be more of a friendlier setting, the people spoke to one another as if it was just another regular day here. Theon did mention that this place was famous for something, and when he turned his head, he saw what for. A tavern wench seemed to have caught all of the men's attention, their eyes roaming all over her lithe body either boldly or sneakily by the corners. She either didn't mind or was blissfully unaware since she served with a smile and a switch of her hips.

"Over here, Steffon!" Robb called his name, making his eyes stray from the tavern wench to walk over and take a seat where the other three were.

Removing his hood, Steffon leaned back onto the chair once he sat, eyes continuing to study the place. "Ever had ale before?" Theon asked. "Northern Ale is said to be the best, even your Southerners say so."

Beer and ale was usually for the smallfolk for nobles must stick up their noses and swallow wine. He tried ale once during his short stay in the Vale and found he had a taste for it. "I've never tried southern ale in King's Landing," he answered with honesty, "though I still believe everything made south is better."

Theon snorted loudly. "You would think that. How about your whores? Think they're better than ours too?"

"Theon…" Jon gave a not-so subtle voice of warning.

"Just because you're shy Snow doesn't mean we shouldn't accommodate our prince. Of course, Winterfell probably won't compare to King's Landing but there are some high performers that you'll want to meet." The Greyjoy smirked, pulling the hand of the dark-haired tavern wench when she neared. It was the same girl that Steffon noticed upon walking in. She fell into his lap with a laugh leaving her lips, already proving these two were already intimately acquainted.

Robb rolled his eyes before gathering up a smile. "My apologies for Theon. He's developed quite the reputation."

He already knew, of course, but Steffon wouldn't dare say it was because he had people watching, listening, and speaking of what Robb's day-to-day activities were. How would that sound? To tell him he had people follow and ask about him to simply know if Robb whored himself as much as Joanna and Steffon's own father? "No apology is needed," he opted to say instead. "Men are men. Theon is no different."

Not so much as a minute had gone by until he was approached. "Care for a drink?" The voice was sweet sounding, lips far too close to his ear for comfort however. His eyes slowly looked up to meet the blue eyes of a young woman, perhaps just a few years older than him. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that, with her hair curly and red: a bright shade of copper. It was styled to lay over one shoulder, making whoever dimly curious of the length of it have their eyes look down to stop at the creamy flesh of her breasts in her inviting dress.

She had an empty tankard in one hand and a full pitcher in the other. "Aye," he answered with a small smile, "thank you for giving me the honor of my first Northern drink."

"Your first? Oh, you must not be from here," she said, placing the tankard down on the table to pour it full of ale to the brim, "You don't have the Northern sound and I'd be sure to remember a face like yours." As she placed the pitcher on the table, she canted her head. "You must be from the South, King's Landing perhaps?"

Shooting up an eyebrow, the Crown Prince went to grab the tankard's handle and brought it to his lips. "Oh?" He took a swig of the ale and found himself marvelling at how bitter in taste it was at first before a wave of sweetness took over. It was difficult to decipher whether he liked it or not, he couldn't think much on it with woman's unrelenting gaze. "That's quite the ear you have."

Her smile hadn't left. "Many of you Southerners come up for a taste of cold air. Though I suppose that isn't so true for you, _My Prince._ " While he had hoped to go unrecognized, Steffon could not fool the redhead beauty. The corner of his mouth twitched, a laugh almost taking him until he forced it away. It almost terrified him how his restraint reminded him of a certain uncle of his. "All that they say about you appears true; tall, handsome, and muscled."

Barely did he have so much of a chance for words since she saddled herself onto his lap. All her weight had now rested on his knees. He couldn't fault her nor himself for any of this; he's young and any young man would have a tough time of having a clear head with a beautiful, curvy woman sprawled out in his lap.

"Is that why you approached me?" He managed to find his voice again. Once he mentally reminded himself who he was, he was a coherent man again. "Because you knew who I was?"

She smiled and for a second, Steffon thought he saw the answer in her eyes. _"Aye,_ " her eyes seemed to say to him, _"I knew and that's why I'm here."_ She wouldn't say it because words hold more weight than guessed intentions. He could admire her for it, for being that honest and this bold.

"Handsome as you are, My Prince, I would've approached you anyway." She leaned forward dangerously, just to press her lips against his cheekbone in a soft press. She was skilled, she knew what she was doing because while he was distracted by that, she began moving dangerously up his thighs and close towards his hips.

How could he let himself get in such a position? To the point his mind, just a mere moments ago addled with wonder, is now currently in the state of mounting arousal. All of him is too alert, even to the point where her pert breast that pushes up against his taut forearm is noticeable. Seven Hells, he can feel the hard peak of it and now his teeth ache because he wants to bite it. _Bite her_. "The sweet thing about this very place is that one does not have to move far with rooms overhead." Damn it all, even her voice was sultry enough to go straight down to his crotch.

Once the young woman pinched at his jerkin's fasteners between his knuckles, the memory that always comes when he finds himself in a situation such as this forced itself to the forefront of his mind. _"You mustn't be like him, Steffon."_ He heard her all in his head due to memory, echoing and making all arousal dissipate within an instant. _"Like who, Mother?"_ Young and naïve, his child-self had asked. _"Like your father, Steffon. A man has needs yes, but not at the cost of filling the Seven Kingdoms with his bastards. You must do better. You must be better."_ The fear of siring as many bastard-born children like his own father always stunted temptation like no other.

Grinding his teeth, he swallowed his frustrated sigh and reached into his pocket to pull out a small purse of gold dragons. It wasn't much, at least not to a prince such as himself, but it was more than enough for her. "I fear I may have wasted your time." He wasted hers and his own, if he's being completely honest. "To compensate for doing so, I give you this."

"You're paying her?" Theon ignored the tavern wench in his lap, eyes bulging out in confusion. "You barely laid a hand on her and you're giving her coin?!"

He didn't bother to answer Theon, simply putting the coin-bag in her small hand. "I hope this serves you well and that the next man you meet won't be as foolish as me." It was all he could think to say and while he thought she may have considered him strange, she only smiled and pressed her lips to his cheek again with a soft peck.

"Thank you, My Prince. Your kindness will always be remembered." She did not ask why he denied her, she only thanked him and raised herself from off his lap and left. Steffon watched her leave, somewhat regretting his choice as the distance grew between them.

"That was a waste," Theon said bitterly, like he could put such money to better use. "Ros would've been the best damn lay you ever had." He supposed it was a good thing he did not take this Ros upstairs in a room. Steffon didn't like the idea of having a woman Theon had been with. He was starting to think it was hard to have any woman in the winter town out of fear of that. Not just that, seeing how beautiful Ros was, what if she was one of the whores his Uncle Tyrion made himself acquainted with the first day here? To share between those two made the Prince feel foul.

"You wanted to," Jon finally spoke after some time of remaining quiet. He lifted his eyes from his empty tankard to look up at Steffon with eyes bearing a thousand questions while only asking one. "Why didn't you?"

Steffon wondered if his words might offend Jon Snow, who was a bastard himself. He kept quiet, just for a moment. Eventually, he thought honesty would be best for he could think of nothing else. "The thought of any woman bearing me a bastard troubles me. I've seen the lives my own bastard-born brother and sister live, why would I wish that upon my own child?" He expected a combative rely, but he received none. Steffon didn't even catch the smile that played about Jon's face for he already absently stared the table, wondering if he made a complete fool of himself.

 ** _ROBB_**

"Black were his helm and armor and his sword hand couldn't get any stronger. Any man would be fool to believe that Aemon the Dragonknight would not fight the odds for his Queen." Their drunken song was loud in the air despite the three of them barely being able to sit atop of their horses without near falling. One would come to regret how morning would fair for them, but they hadn't cared for now. Prince Steffon, who had gotten drunk rather late during their many rounds of ale, was now unable to keep his eyes open with a lopsided grin and a slur of his words. Robb and Jon did most of the coherent singing, even though Robb's eyes wanted to swivel towards the back of his head. All the alarms were sounding off that he would sooner have a headache yet he didn't let it bother him. "Though knowing that he would surely die, Ser Morgil tried his might to keep his head up high! But prideful were the Targaryens, and Queen Naerys love would not let the knight give in. With his cry of rage and deadly grin, the Dragonknight made sure Ser Morgil fell, never to rise again."

Theon had stayed behind, deciding to spend his night at the inn to have his fun with the tavern wench by the name of Kyra. Neither of the three seemed to mind since they already knew Theon had no intentions of returning to Winterfell for the night when they first left. "What's the rest of the song? I don't remember," The Crown Prince said, eyes squinting and his head barely up.

"Something about…" Robb tilted his head, trying to remember without too much thought before his headache would flare. "I can't… I can't think of it."

"Defiant to protect the Queen's name, Dark Sister's blade shined brighter than any flame, Ser Aemon the Dragonknight was a knight the realm would never see again," Jon sang the lyric, way less enthusiastically than their joint singing.

"That's right." Robb smiled. "Leave it to Jon to remember."

"Dark Sister…" Steffon sighed. "If only she could be found."

"You would have her?" asked Jon, unveiling how much sober he was compared to the both of them.

Steffon gave a half-hearted shrug. "She's not for me to have, though Targaryen blood does run through my veins. She's better in the hands of what's left of the bloodline than lost and abandoned."

"Only two Targaryens remain…" Robb tried to remember, though remembering anything right now didn't seem wise. His head would rather he didn't put too much thought to anything, just thinking one thing seemed too strenuous.

"The last of the Mad King's children, yes; Viserys and Daenerys." All this talk of the nearly diminished dynasty had made Steffon more awake and aware. From what Robb could see, the Crown Prince looked rather torn speaking about them, possibly because they are his family; second cousins once removed to be accurate. "My father would rather them be dead, unfortunately."

"You don't share his feelings?" Jon gave voice to the question that remained inside Robb's head. People would think that the decimation of House Targaryen was reasonable seeing what they had done and all they took from so many people. House Stark was wounded thrice by their hands the last score so Robb's own feelings were less than kind, but Viserys and Daenerys did not harm the three Starks that were taken from them. Their murderers were dead and so the two that remained should be exempt of all ill feelings.

Steffon halted his horse, looking at the both of them with a rather stern expression. "House Targaryen has wounded many," he began, sounding like an actual prince than a normal man as Robb began to see him as, "and my father had every right to kill Rhaegar for what he had done to your Aunt Lyanna." Robb nodded and Jon slowly did as well, understanding that much. "However, Daenerys and Viserys did not murder Lyanna, Brandon nor Rickard Stark. So why should they be put to death for it? Does that make any sense to you?"

All Robb could say was that Robert still grieved for Lyanna and his grief was a bloody one. It was true, what Steffon said, why should the last two Targaryens have their lives put to an end for something their father and brother did? Perhaps it was the idea that there are still Targaryen loyalists, hiding and waiting, just hoping for Viserys to cross the seas and rise to be their king. Did Robert Baratheon fear that or did he just loathe every being with the blood and name Targaryen?

"You have a kind heart," said Robb,"and many would see it as weakness for a king-to-be."

The Baratheon's nod was slight. "I know but I will make the world see that kindness can be fearsome as well. The crown is heavy for the weight of the kingdom rests on it and there will be decisions that I may not like the options for. Unnecessary cruelty, however, will not be a part of my rule. If I would have things my way, I'd let the Targaryens return to Westeros. If they dared wished to rise against me then I'll finish what my father started."

"Simple as that?" Robb rose a brow.

"As simple as that." Steffon gave him a slight smile. "Now no more of this, my mind is clearer now and the fun is regrettably lost. Let the ride back be more cheery, yes? After all, I suppose we should receive news whether you and my sister will wed or not."

Another question left unasked suddenly came to mind and Robb felt ready to speak it. "You never told me if I have your blessings to marry your sister."

"If you did not have my blessings," Steffon's smile became a smirk as he spoke, "you and my sister would have not been roaming together alone. Do try less of that, will you? My mother loathes it."

Surprised and embarrassed, Robb's face nearly matched the red of his hair. "Is it a crime to know your sister without company?"

"No," Steffon swiftly replied, "but most girls alone with their suitors while unchaperoned does make the mind wander… I believe I know you well enough that nothing less than friendly transpired, but to others? Well, they'd see it different. My mother for example does not trust men. I'm sure that even you are well aware that your uncle once had quite the reputation."

"Which one?" Jon inquisitively asked.

"Uncle Brandon," Robb knew exactly. He was often told by his mother and father that he mirrored the man despite never having met him. "Nothing less than innocent is between your sister and I."

"I'm not the one you should be declaring your innocence to, Robb." And how did Steffon suppose he ease the Queen's worries? What could he say that would make her believe Joanna was safe around him? "Just try to see less of her alone until it is determined if you'll marry."

Robb tried not to think of Joanna after their time in the godswood. Regrettably, he was starting to feel that marriage wouldn't be so bad, especially since she did not think ill of him or of the union. He saw a glimpse of her playful side that she had hid quite well or rather masked with her shyness. He hoped to know more of her, at least before they were bound for life before the gods, that is.

Conversation began anew, drifting away from marriage and Targaryens and back to their own different lives. Steffon told them about his time being a squire for the Lord Penrose as well as his travels throughout the Stormlands and all the way to the Vale. Robb and Jon didn't have much to contribute since they never left the North, but their stories were entertaining considering many of the Northern Lords weren't your average men.

The portcullis to Winterfell's gates rose, allowing them entry and they soon returned their horses to the stables. "It isn't as late as I thought it to be," Steffon made note, looking around and seeing that the night's activity in the castle had not dwindled. People of lesser statuses still roamed and the air wasn't so quiet. "My father must still be in the Great Hall trying to drink all the wine you Starks have."

"I'm sure your uncle is helping him plenty." Steffon laughed at Jon's words, possibly knowing who he meant. Robb knew it to be Tyrion, but he didn't know Jon had got himself acquainted with him.

"Never underestimate Tyrion Lannister; he'll drink a whole barrel before the night is done and yet still will have the willpower to keep on talking."

Before Robb could reply, one of the servants came walking fast, lifting her skirts so she did not mistakenly trip over them. "Mi'lord, your mother wishes to see you at once." Robb exchanged a look with Steffon, who gave a slight nod.

His pacing was undesirable, not at all reflecting a young man who was eager nor displeased. Robb seemed reluctant, wary, and unsure just from his small strides alone. There wasn't enough time to figure out if he really wouldn't mind this marriage. Just because he felt at ease with Joanna, it didn't mean she had come familiar or desirable just because of a few shared smile and fun. He could feel the way with any girl, at least that's what he thinks.

Once his mother's servant opened the door, announcing his arrival, Robb fixed the pondering look on his face and appeared rather dignified. This was his mother, one that he could tell his troubles to, but he didn't want to seem indecisive nor puerile. He wanted to stand before her as a man-grown, capable of handling any decisions, even if he hadn't liked them or the reverse. In a matter of months, he would soon be eight-and-ten and now was the time to start acting like it.

Catelyn had stood by the hearth, her long and dainty fingers laced together. As Robb made his way further in the room, the servant leaving as he closed the door, his mother gave him a small smile. "I suppose you know what this is about." Her words sounded heavy, not at all like a mother giving happy news.

"You make it sound grave, Mother." Robb tried to add light to the situation, cracking just a slight smile.

"It's just," she said as she began to wring her hands as she always does when she's nervous, "I know that your father and I promised you to marry in a different circumstance than us. We promised you that and then the King arrives and nearly makes us retract on it."

"Mother," Robb's hand found her shoulders, hoping to calm her. "I understand. Neither you nor father foresaw the King's arrival or his intentions of marrying me to his daughter. I don't think the King did either. It all seems so… _rushed_."

"My son," Catelyn sighed, hand reaching to touch his hands. "So kind and understanding. If you feel any anger towards me, to your father or even the King, I will not fault you for it."

It makes him feel guilty to think he did and even still does resent the three of them for this. That resentment has lessened but it stills breathes. "You've decided to have us marry then?" He knew his mother's decision without her saying it. The guilt made it clear.

"The Princess is of two Great Houses, she is kind and beautiful…" All the qualities of which Robb is fully aware of. "House Stark and House Baratheon were to be bound by marriage and blood before and to have it sealed would be—"

"You like her." He figured out through his mother's mask. Robb knew her well, more than she likely thought he did. "None of that has anything to do with why you consented."

His mother breathed out a chuckle, eyes softening from their worried glaze. "I do. I only know little but she is genuine, not scheming nor arrogant. I nearly thought her kindness to be an act… It isn't." She nodded, almost as if she was reconfirming those thoughts again to herself. "I think the both of you would bring out a better side of each other, _if_ you give each other the chance." She soon gathered his hands, holding them tight. "But how is that you feel? If you do not wish to marry her then tell me, so I can convince the King that such a marriage isn't beneficial."

Now the decision laid on his shoulders and the answer felt clear.

 ** _STEFFON_**

His tongue was lathered with summer wine again, overpowering all the taste of ale of the evening to lap up the noble drink. His eyes watched everyone in the Great Hall, talking and whispering, waiting eagerly for the announcement that was sure to come. Standing next to him was Jon, who looked rather unbothered by it all. It took heavy convincing just to let him stand next to him for he thought it would be _"rude for a bastard son to be near a Crown Prince."_ He wasn't sure how the North treated their bastards, but Steffon felt sorry he had to live this way. "Surely you have an opinion about all of this?" he finally decided to speak, his eyes looking at Jon from their corners.

"An opinion about Robb and Joanna marrying?" Jon wanted to clarify to which Steffon nodded before taking another taste from his goblet. "I'm happy for Robb, I see nothing that should cause me any concern. It is you that I feel concern for. How do _you_ feel about this marriage?"

Steffon snorted, shaking his head. "How do I feel about the North taking something irrevocably precious of mine? Disheartened and furious, if you want me honest. Robb is a good lad, I know it to be true myself, and I should be happy Joanna will have a man who respects her and will treat her well."

"I would feel the same had it been my sister." With a small furrow of his brow, Steffon wondered which sister Jon was speaking of. "Arya is young, not even close to marrying age as of yet, but I'd hate any man she loves more than me."

It was exactly how he felt; Joanna would love him less, she'll love Robb out of duty or perhaps even genuinely. Joanna would look to Robb for comfort and protection. All the things Steffon had provided for her was now Robb's duty, and that was what wounded him most. "Surely she loves her father just as much if not more than you."

"That's different," the dark-haired Stark had said with a smile, "just as I am sure Joanna loves your father the same." The Crown Prince nodded faintly. "Soon you'll be married as well."

"Soon I will and then I'll have to strive for some children, just to keep this whole kingdom afloat." Steffon didn't want to think of children as of now, but to not think of them would be a foolish move on his part. It wasn't that he didn't want children, it was just youth was still thriving in him and a child would wear it out of him more quickly than any throne would.

His father soon rose from his seat, chalice raised in the air. Everyone quieted down when the king had signalled he would make an announcement and not a sound could be heard except for Robert's voice; "Tonight is a special night for House Baratheon and House Stark!" he began, face ruddy from drink and his smile so big that it took nearly half his face. Steffon looked to Joanna, who was sitting with the Lady Sansa. "Years ago, our Houses were supposed to be bound by the marriage of Lyanna and I," Steffon glanced at his mother, who was struggling not to frown at her husband's words, "but the Targaryens stole her and robbed our Houses of that."

"Ned and I have been friends for years, close as brothers, and so we decided to unite our Houses as we would have once a long time ago. With his eldest boy, Robb, and my eldest daughter, Joanna." His sister didn't look surprised, but she seemed rather stiff in her seat. "C'mon over here, the both of you," his father ordered. Both Robb and Joanna left their seats to walk to where Robert and Lord Stark were standing. Steffon watched as they exchanged a look, gifting each other a small smile, despite how awkward both must've felt to be put at the center of attention. "In a month's time, we will have them marry and right the wrongs of the past!"

The cheers drowned the Great Hall while Steffon found himself watching Joanna, who reached for Robb's hand and held it tight. It wasn't because of happiness nor love, no, Steffon knew better. Joanna sought comfort from the only person who understood the difficulty of an arranged marriage. Steffon was now officially no longer her source of comfort, the go-to person that she came running to. Robb had taken Steffon's place and he didn't find himself hurt about that anymore. Their paths had finally divided and hers were keep her North and his South.

The Baratheon twins were no longer children and the path to adulthood had finally laid before them.

Summer was truly nearing its end.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Tywin Lannister is a man who most people feared and respected, likely even hated. His name carried a weight that could not be duplicated nor ignored. After all, he is the first person one would think about upon hearing the Lannister name. You would not think of the Queen, the Kingslayer or even her "the lecherous dwarf" of an uncle or the Imp as people called Tyrion. You would think of Tywin Lannister, former Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. He is fearsome, has a great mind for strategy, and has won many battles with a song of an infamous victory. To Joanna, however, he's just her grandfather. Her only grandfather that she has ever known and stolen several smiles from.

Whenever she recalled her days of staying in the West, she thinks of the times where she had boldly waltzed her way to her grandfather's bedchambers to find him at his desk, writing and reading just to appease or hush some lord that has unfortunately riled his nerves. She would walk in, stare at him while he worked until he gave her just a smidgen of his attention. He used to berate her at first until she began asking questions. From what she learned, Tywin loved to teach and when he thought you capable of providing thought-provoking questions and fresh opinions, he talked more. _"Smart for a girl your age."_ He said to her once. _"I hope you put it to proper use someday."_ Those moments, short and rare, are things she treasured about her relationship with him.

"Grandfather says his duties make him unable to attend, but he wishes me good fortune and sends gifts." Her voice was entirely void of emotion. How happy she would've been just to see him here, draped in Lannister red and gold, giving her a shadow of a smile. Even if this marriage was not all she dreamed, she would've been happy to have him here.

"As expected." Her mother seemed to already know that he wouldn't show. That seemed to hurt Joanna even more since her grandfather fell in the trap of her mother's expectations. As she placed the letter down on the end table, Isolde gestured for one of her handmaidens to bring the largest gift first.

Presents were usually opened after the couple had wedded, but her grandfather urged for her to open this first. Pulling the strings of the bow so that the box had no restrictions, she removed the lid to find—

"A dress?" Isolde said with surprise.

The corner of Joanna's lips lifted to make a smile. "It's a wedding dress." Gently, she removed the dress from the confines of the box, bringing it close to her body as the long skirt unfolded and fell.

It went unnoticed by Joanna, the way her mother's fingers had furled and her body went rigid in her seat. The Princess was too busy admiring the gown, knowing that it was old but looked as if had been only worn once. The corset was beaded by hand, Myrish lace up the sides. In the back was gold stitches in the color of Lannister gold with the House symbol of lions on their hind legs on either side while one large lion head was sewn in the centre of them. The neck had gold-embroidered trimming, covered in red rubies of various shapes and shades. The skirt of the dress was of three layers, ruffled and draped of soft material. The front panel was gold and overlaid with red painted lace.

"That isn't just any wedding dress, Joanna." Her mother finally spoke amidst her daughter's awe. "That belonged to your grandmother. _My mother._ "

The ice in her mother's voice did not set in. Joanna was too overjoyed, heart warmed, as she gazed at the gown. How much had her grandfather cared for her that he would let go what must've been such a cherished item to him? No man had loved deeply as Tywin loved his Lady Joanna, she always heard. It was a love people always loved to speak about. She, herself, had hoped to be loved in the same fierceness. Not only that, the dress seemed perfect for such a day; a Lannister gown with the Baratheon cloak. She would honor who she was completely.

"Should we put it on?" Isolde seemed excited, coaxing her as Joanna stood only in a slip. She had already bathed and all that needed to be done was to have her dress adorned and shoes on her feet. Joanna decided no makeup, which had her mother shocked due to the grandness of the day. She wanted to be a natural blushing bride. She would not doll herself up like the Southern girl she was to her mother's dismay. It was decided by her, a little too last second, that she would accept some Northern ideals just as Robb had accepted that they would say the vows of the Faith before the heart tree.

"Isolde," Cersei called her lady-in-waiting, "I think it is time you find your seat. I will dress Joanna myself."

It was strange and something Joanna hadn't expected. Neither did Isolde as the both of them shared a rather confused look. Still, if this was what her mother requested then it will be done. Joanna gave a stiff nod to her friend, who returned it just as stiffly. She then bowed before her mother before Joanna's handmaidens had shuffled behind, emptying the room entirely except for Joanna, her mother and Calla.

The lion remained sleeping on her pillow, unbothered by the festivities or perhaps not able to comprehend of all that was happening. Though Joanna surmised the lioness was tired as she and Loreon had chased Grey Wind and Nymeria for a good two hours.

Cersei never lowered herself to do a servant's task but something about helping her daughter dress for her wedding didn't seem so lowly, even for a queen. Joanna, as always, was compliant and did everything her mother wanted without any disagreeable thoughts.

"I wanted to wear this dress," Cersei had told her as Joanna slipped into the gown and her mother adjusted the corset before she began to tie the laces. "I thought I'd be the one to wear it when my father promised me that I would wed Rhaegar Targaryen."

Not once had her mother brought up the Dragon Prince. It came as a surprise to her that her mother was supposed to marry him just as her father was supposed to marry Lyanna Stark. How strange—even more so sad—that both of her parents had only wedded one another because of Rhaegar's chaotic choice. "Then I hoped to wear it when he came to tell me that Robert was the man I was to marry instead."

She winced when her mother pulled at the strings of the corset, tightening to that devastatingly tight normal that most dresses felt. "I wonder why he never gave it to me," she practically murmured, almost as if Joanna wasn't meant to hear it. "No matter…" Cersei then smiled, tying up the ends of the laces in a knot before resting her hands on Joanna's shoulders to turn her around. "You look beautiful." Cersei kept her smile yet Joanna wasn't sure if she felt it genuine. Her mother was being so strange today. She did not think she would be over-the-moon considering who she was marrying, but she hadn't expected for her to behave like this. "But your hair…" Her palm lifted up a lock of her hair after combing through it, eyes filled with curious disapproval. "Why not style it?"

"I thought I'd leave it the Northern way," Joanna replied, voice quavering as if she were unsure that she made the right decision. It was simply parted in the middle, hair in its natural state of loose and lazy curls at the end but perfectly brushed.

"And for who? For the Starks?" Why couldn't it have been for herself? Was that not her intention? Perhaps she was trying to impress Robb and his family. "Whether it is up or down, it does not change a thing." Her mother moved along the subject. "You are to be Joanna Stark either way." _Bitter._ Her mother sounded bitter and sad.

How could Joanna be so insensitive? Her mother was unhappy because this day meant that Joanna would be leagues away with a family she didn't trust. Wrapping her arms around her mother's waist, Joanna rested her chin on Cersei's shoulder. "I'm still your daughter and I will always be your daughter."

Her mother made the embrace tighter, hand gently rubbing the back of Joanna's head. "I know, Joanna, but it pains me to know I will never see you for myself. How can I trust the Starks to take care of you? How would they know how to tend to you?"

"I'm a woman-grown now, Mother." It sounded like a lie as it left her lips. A woman-grown? Would a woman-grown be so half-tempted to cling onto her mother forever? "I do not need the Starks to take care of me. I can take care of myself."

Cersei said nothing else, she just continued to hold her for a few minutes more before pressing a kiss to her temple. "My sweet Joanna." Her mother made it difficult to not bring her to the verge of tears. She thought to save her crying when it was time her family finally left without her. "If you ever feel unsafe, you send a raven to me right away. Do you hear me? Should the Starks ever do you harm, I'll see that they suffer for it."

Joanna didn't suspect that they would, but to appease her mother, she had nodded. "I will, Mother."

Cersei parted with her, swallowing her emotions and quickly ridding her tears with swift strokes of her fingers. Just like that, her queen mother was the image of strong perfection. Something like that took years to cultivate and Joanna could only hope that she could grow and be the same.

As she placed on her shoes, Joanna looked herself in the mirror and notice the only jewelry she wore as the pendant around her neck. Rarely was she ever without it. In fact, she couldn't recall a time she had ever taken it off. She slept with it, even bathed with it. The gold pendant of a deer's head gifted from her father when she had just turned six. He gave Steffon a stag-head pendant as well, almost as if he was competing with the Lannister pendant that her uncles and mother wore. She had one too yet she never wore it. Why must she prove herself a Lannister when she looked just like one? It saddened her to think that the lion pendant was back in King's Landing … untouched and unadorned.

Seeing as she was ready, her mother escorted her out of the bedchambers with Calla clambering behind them. The two of them walked in silence with Lannister guards walking a comfortable feet behind them. Down the stairwell and towards the hall with doors that led to the godswood, her father had stood donned in Baratheon colors and crown on his head. In his arm was her maiden's cloak, bearing the Crowned Stag of House Baratheon.

Possibly from hearing her heels meeting the floors, he turned to look at her. For some reason, she desperately cared how her father thought she looked, knowing that he usually doesn't care how a woman dresses. Cersei left them, the servants opening the doors for her and a few guards parting to escort her safely. Now it was just Joanna and her father with a few men to protectively watch them.

"You look just like your mother." Her father suddenly decided to speak. Her green eyes slowly looked up to meet his blue ones. "Your mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw on the day of our wedding. I thought to myself that many men could only dream to take my place to marry her."

She smiled, only slightly. "But she was not the woman you wanted." A sad tale for Robert and Cersei; a sad tale that turned cold and volatile as the years went on. His smile was rather sad, almost as if he felt guilty for not loving her mother. Joanna's hand reached out, taking a firm hold of his hand in efforts to comfort him. "I understand." He relaxed, hopefully pulling him mind from memories best left forgotten.

"I don't say it often," Robert cleared his throat, almost like he was embarrassed, "but I love you something fierce, girl. To see you marry Ned's boy puts me at ease but it doesn't change that I won't miss seein' you."

Tears, as if they were of their own will than hers, had stung her eyes. They threatened to spill over, but Joanna had swallowed hard and held them back. She let out a laugh as painful as it was due to how taut her throat was due to emotion. "And I love you, Father. I always will." Just like she used to do when she was a child, she wrapped her arms around his neck. When she was excited that he came back home, she would run to meet him in the entrance hall and shower him with kisses. He used to laugh, holding her tight with her legs dangling in the air, and begged her to never greet another man the same.

His arms circled around her, laugh ringing in her ears that was loved and familiar. She soon loosened her hold and he gently put her down to her feet before he began to drape the maiden's cloak on her shoulders.

 ** _ROBB_**

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He was getting married; a large milestone in his life. He stood before the heart tree with the Septon, watching as people were taking their seats. Queen Cersei had taken hers, sitting between the younger Baratheons, while Joffrey and Steffon had sat rather awkwardly next to one another. He could almost laugh with the way Joffrey still held a grudge and Steffon didn't bother to salve it, being just as stubborn. He then looked right to see his mother and father, who smiled once they caught him looking. The wedding hadn't even began and his mother was already tearing, handkerchief in hand and her lips trembling. His father's hand would occasionally rub her shoulder in efforts to comfort her. It made Robb wonder if that could be him and Joanna someday as they watched their own child get married.

It halfway startled him when everyone began to stand on their feet due to the Septon's signal that Joanna and the King had arrived. He waited with bated breath as underneath the veil of grey skies, Joanna had appeared with snowflakes billowing around her. Her green eyes were alight with awe, hair long and curly, gently swaying with each movement of her head. None of them suspected snowfall, but it fell and it danced around with Joanna's eyes big and curious, eyelashes aflutter, and her head tilted back to look at the sky. Before childish wonder could tide over her, she thought of her duty first. The switch surprised him and amazed him all at once.

"An auspicious day for a wedding," said the Septon.

Robb hardly knew what he meant. He didn't care to either. He seemed lost in a trance, watching his wife-to-be as she walked towards him in a gait that made him unable to decipher all her feelings right now. He could, for the most part, tell when she was nervous from the way she walked. The last two encounters from when they walked together had let him know of that. When nervous, she walked like a doe learning to the walk for the first time; on the verge of having a clumsy mistake, strides all awkward and trying to mimic his own.

Soon King Robert and Joanna were right before him. Joanna stood at his side while her father undid the clasp of her maiden cloak. With a near fumble, Robert swept it away and gave Robb a stern nod of his head before sitting next to the Queen. Huge and heavy was the bride's cloak he held in his arms, plain and grey with the direwolf stitched in whitish-grey big as day in the middle. Robb had swept it over her shoulders once she turned her back towards him. He fastened the clasp with ease since he made sure to practice although it wasn't a difficult task. Little things could go wrong when nervous, but Robb had made sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself with this.

Perhaps his nerves were not so wracked because this was a simple fastening of a cloak, but more so of what came after. When Joanna had slowly turned to face him, he knew that a kiss had to be given. He felt nervous to kiss her for what would it mean? Essentially, it was part of the pledge yet due to the overwhelming fact that he knew not what to make of his feelings towards her… they held a rather muddled meaning.

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband." Joanna recited the words, voice clear and surprisingly calm, so unlike the timid girl he has known for the past month.

"With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife."

He didn't love her and she didn't love him, but temptation and duty seemed to sew themselves together. She was looking up at him, snowflakes in her hair, and waiting for him to kiss her. He could also see she was anxious about it, too. Robb leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching. He was so close, the very scent of her flooding his senses now… A shy look devoured her features until their lips met. The kiss embodied their whole relationship, like two strangers meeting; formal and unsure. There was something to be felt, pulling at him within the kiss and before he could understand it, they broke apart.

The Septon, raising up a crystal that had no sun to make a rainbow befall them, spoke; "Here in the sight of gods and men… I do solemnly proclaim Robb of House Stark and Joanna of House Baratheon to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

As the crowd gathered erupted in cheers, the noise dimmed, and standing before him now was Joanna Stark née Baratheon; his wife until the end of his days.

* * *

 **A/N:** Forgive me that it took so long to update! And there's no action in this chapter, just bonding. I'm trying to keep it as in-character in possible; the awkwardness, the budding friendships, and a peek of Joanna and Steffon's insecurities. Joanna's troubles were known at the gate, but I rarely see how people handle OC!Male Baratheon's issue when it comes to women/bastards considering who their father is ( and their mother _but they don't know that_ ). So I hope that little insight was refreshing. I want everyone's relationship to have a foundation so nothing seems weird or too advanced for later events. _Every relationship matters in this story._ Also, I can finally get things moving now without this "will they" or "won't they" with this whole marriage.

Psykic Ninja: That's the greatest compliment any writer can ever get! Thank you so much!

Elaine451: Considering how shy and weak Tommen is, I don't think it's all that... strange? I mean, I understand that you would think such parents would produce strong children, but that's not always the case with every child. Steffon is the perfect example of that and so I would be making them too much alike despite them being twins. Also, I would be making her like too many OC!Female Baratheons and that's why I made her timid so that as the story progresses, you'll see her strength and growth. She's a bottom-up character; she doesn't get to start off strong without working for it. I understand your opinion though and I don't fault you for it! I love sassy/I'm not taking any crap oc's paired with Robb because angst is amazing! _But_... I like doing new things and changing perspectives.


	6. First Night (M)

**_JOANNA_**

This was torture.

Her cheeks felt tight and the corner of her lips wanted to quiver because they were tired of trying to keep up this happy semblance. People forget how hard it is to be a princess. To smile when you didn't want to, to speak when you didn't want to speak, and do everything in your power to not offend anyone. There were so many rules and restrictions that she had to follow and remember, which always left her mentally exhausted by the end of the day. Even if she was no longer a princess, she was a lady now and ladies still had to uphold the same impossible standards.

This dilemma began when each and every Northern lord wanted to speak to herself and Robb, mostly to give personal congratulations on their marriage. When one lord or lady left, another came following behind. An endless cycle it was becoming, but how could she refuse it? It was important for her as Robb's wife, the future Lady of Winterfell, to form a relationship with each and every one of them. Not just simply knowing their names. Joanna had to get a taste of who they were as their own individual person because they were her people now; her Northern men and women. Yet, how could she truly pay attention? There were just so many and some of them prolonged a conversation that was clearly dead.

While there was kindness behind most of them and motives behind others, all Joanna had wanted was some time to herself. She wanted to breathe on her own, but this reception made it impossible. "I think my father invited every lord in the North there is," Robb mumbled, keeping his smile as he spoke. He leaned in close so that she was the only one that could hear him.

"It certainly feels like it," Joanna replied, smiling while bearing the same tired annoyance in her tone that Robb conveyed.

Lord Wells kept talking and talking, and… talking. Both newly husband and wife briefly looked at each other, face bearing tired shock that he was so focused on what he was saying, that he hadn't bothered to care who was actually listening. "Lord Wells," Robb finally interrupted him after the continuous amount of one word comments he politely gave before to feign interest. "How about we continue this conversation at another time? My wife wishes to dance."

"To dance?" Joanna brows shot up, confused as to where he got that idea. It was by the mischievous smirk on his face that quickly disappeared that she now realized that he was initiating their escape. "A-Ah yes, I do wish to dance with my… _husband._ " Joanna lowered her head meekly and apologetically. "Would you mind, Lord Wells?"

"Of course not." The Northern Lord bowed his head in understanding, being so gracious to let them go. "As you please, My Lord and Lady."

In an instant, Robb took her hand, hastily leading her towards the centre of the Great Hall. Joanna did her best not to laugh, mostly because she felt more grateful than entertained that he was so crafty. "I thought we would never escape," she opted to say instead, keeping her voice low so it was for his ears only. They did not want anyone repeating that they heard the two of them so eager to leave Lord Wells' company. It wouldn't look good and the last thing she needed was to be the center of a lord's animosity.

"Neither did I," Robb replied in a hushed voice. People parted like a sea as the two of them walked through the dance floor. All eyes were on them because this was the first dance of the newlyweds. Unsettling as it was, to be watched, Joanna did her best not to give physical representation of her nerves. Taking hold of her skirts, she made sure they did not flick too wildly as she took some steps, so that she lightly turned to stand before him once they were in a spacious area. After one step towards each other and a bow, they began to circle each other with their eyes locked. Joanna prided her skills in dancing, mostly because her aunt Genna Lannister once said that a lady is as good as the rhythm of her body. Little did Joanna know that such advice was not strictly about dancing.

Soon a warm hand applied pressure on the small of her back. Her hand came to lightly rest on his broad shoulder, and their free hands had met as the soft flow of music made them fall in step, perfectly in sync. As the song progressed, Joanna found herself relaxing, eyes glancing over Robb's shoulder to see that people were content with watching instead of joining them just yet. Even among the crowds, seeing past strangers' shoulders alike, she had spotted Lord Wells looking pleased that they did not lie.

"Have I told you," Robb began to say, making her snatch her eyes away from Lord Wells to properly look up at him, "that you…" Her brows slightly furrowed, wondering what was so difficult for him to say. "That you look like a Northern lady."

"Ah," she settled to say, "I thought you…" Now it was her turn to be tongue-tied. "I thought your family would like it." Yes, that was better. It's too embarrassing to say that she had thought _he_ would like it.

As if his body was in tune with the slow strings of the music, he turned. Whilst elegant, there was a hint of harshness to him. Robb could appear as a true gentleman, but his blood was too hot for something this tame. Robb was no princely man and it was amusing that you could tell just from the way he danced. "I don't know what my mother and father think of it as for me," he said, jaw curving to give way to a boyish grin. "I think you look prettier this way."

Prettier? So, he didn't like the dramatics of the South? It didn't faintly surprise her. The North liked simple things, which could be nice but also boring. She would miss the drama of King's Landing, she sorely realized. She had to settle for rustic, quieter things now.

"I can think of nothing to say in return." Joanna remained honest, doing her very best to be so forthright with him. "It would be no true observation if I said you were handsome. You always are." That… was too honest for her liking. Her face heated with color, almost intensely.

Robb's face was nearly as red as his hair, but he had the right wits to play it off with laughter. Embarrassed and flustered, Joanna mentally prayed for an escape. Escape to where and to whom? Who could rescue her? Steffon. Steffon could swoop in, steal her for a dance, and she could curse herself until late evening about how her boldness grasped reins at the worst of times.

"May I cut in?" Thank the Seven. Joanna nearly sighed of relief, but swallowed it upon realizing that asking for her hand to dance was none other than Lord Stark himself. He stood there in his dour greys, face a mixture of warm and cold. He was such a stern man and emotions that befitted a livelier person did not suit him.

"Of course, Father." Robb had been so eager to comply while she was still stunned that the Warden of the North wanted to dance with her. It was possibly due to the fact that she was now his good-daughter. What better way to talk to her without eyes and ears than in a dance? What did he have to say? Had he solely wanted to give congratulations and keep up appearances?

Robb stepped away, allowing Joanna and Ned to give sign of a new dance with a bow before going in the proper positions. Robb glanced at her once, smile still intact, before he disappeared amongst the crowd since so many people were dancing themselves now. Like a child, Joanna looked up at Ned practically through her eyelashes, not able to raise her head properly like a true lady would.

"You and Robb get along well," he commented, "better than Catelyn and I did." You wouldn't think that, if you'd seen the way Lord and Lady Stark interacted with each other. They were warm and loving to one another. A happy married couple. Something she had never seen in her seventeen years of life. The only happy marriages she last heard close to home were of her grandfather and his lady wife that she was named after. Also, her grandfather that Steffon was named after and her grandmother Cassana.

The best thing she had done thus far was advocate that she and Robb be friends or else this wedding day would've been disastrous. Robb was pleasantly like her in a way, the both of them young at heart. They knew their place, knew what was expected individually and of each other, but still held their childish notions of what they desired. Since they found common ground on that, she would've said yes a thousand times, if her father had asked her if Robb Stark was the one she wanted to marry.

"It was arranged, wasn't it?" Joanna asked, genuinely curious.

"She was meant for my brother, Brandon." The one that Bran was named after, she connected. She heard of Brandon Stark, the one they called the Wild Wolf. Her father never ceased to mention how the man horribly died when he was slighting House Targaryen. They bound a leather cord around the Wild Wolf's neck and he strangled himself aiming to get his sword in efforts to save his father that was being scorched alive before his eyes. An utmost cruel tragedy, one that makes her so shameful to be married to a family wounded greatly by people of her own bloodline. "It was hard for either one of us to adjust at first, especially after I had to leave to help finish your father's Rebellion." Joanna nodded, knowing that as well. "We found a way, somehow, in the years."

She smiled. "I'm content if Robb and I do not find love. My mother has never found it in my father. While I do pity that the chance was once there, I've seen how to survive without it," she spoke it plainly, not wanting Lord Stark to know all the stupid dreams her mind could spin. Steffon always said her adoration of love stories was dangerous, but she knew better than to warp them to fit reality. She did not want to be too much like her mother; scorned and unhappy, relying solely on any means of power and her children.

"Your way of thinking is admirable," replied Lord Stark, looking almost unsure about something, "but Robb will not fail you as your father failed your mother." At first it stung to hear him say that. It was a sweet pain, a prick that only meant to heal than it did to wound. Lord Stark was assuring her that she would suffer no loveless grievances. How did he know? He only assumed it. Perhaps that was presumptuous of her to think that because who knew her father better than Eddard Stark? Had he known all the terrible things her father had done to her mother? What they had done and said about one another? "You are a daughter of the North now, you will be kept warm." _You will be safe. You will be loved. You are a stranger no longer for you will belong._ That's what it sounded like he was trying to say. He did not know, not even in the slightest, of how comforting his words were to her.

The dance came to a finish with a single spin. "Thank you, Lord Stark." It was all Joanna could find herself to say while feeling the tension in her shoulders loosen in one, soft exhale.

"Another thing," he hurriedly said, "I've talked it over with your father, about if there should be a bedding ceremony." Her body became stiff, so still that you might mistake her for having rigor mortis. Bedding ceremonies were humiliating, at least in her eyes. It was tradition, a very old one and one still practiced and a thousand times better than first night, but it was a tradition she did not wish to suffer through. "I've convinced him that it would be best if there wasn't one."

A flood of relief coursed through her, her heart that nearly stammered out of control soon calmed upon hearing this news. Ned Stark convinced her father to forgo tradition. Who would've thought? This man was the epitome of the old ways, so why had he forsaken it for her? This was his son's wedding, too. Any other normal person would've been too busy happy that they would be free of such an unpleasant ceremony and yet here she was trying to decipher the reasoning behind its cancellation. _"You think too much, Joanna."_ Steffon would've said to her. _"Take this gift and move on."_ He would be right, wouldn't he? Although it makes no sense since he overthinks just as much if not more than she does.

"He told you there would be no bedding ceremony, didn't he?" Lady Stark's words somewhat startled her, mostly because the woman had seemed to come from nowhere. Joanna quickly turned to her good-mother, her relief still glossing over her features. "You're lucky to have escaped that, I didn't." Now it was guilt that settled in the pit of her stomach. What if Lady Stark was questioning why Joanna was so put above such a custom? Why should she get the luxury of not upholding such a tradition? "It's never easy for a young woman. You are greatly spared."

"Is it right that I'm spared? Would it seem that I'm too above such traditions?" Genuinely curious of how the other lords and ladies would think of her because of this, she hoped Catelyn would be honest.

The woman's soft and slender hands laced together, eyes tilted with bemusement. "I'm sure some men and women will be sore that they did not get the chance to undress either one of you, but people know that such a marriage is a sensitive one. You are a highborn girl adapting to foreign land, so people show more pity to a girl of your status dealing with such grievances. Some—and I say this lightly—will not look at it with shared sympathy."

It was an honest answer and one she could've speculated for herself. "But it does not matter what they think," Catelyn added tenderly. "You are my good-daughter and I care for your comfort as well as my son's."

 _Her_ comfort. It was a rare thing for someone other than her mother to care about her comfort. She did not know what to say or how to feel. Lord and Lady Stark were so kind to her thus far, and she had no idea on how to repay them.

 ** _ROBB_**

"They're soused to the eyeballs," Robb did his best not to laugh, observing how drunk his now good-brother was. Steffon was using the wall to keep himself standing, head ever tilting forward with his hair messily falling all over his face. While he had come to know that the Crown Prince could hold his drinks, it was apparent that he might've reached his limit. Theon, however, looked the worst out of the group. His back was slowly sliding down the wall, eyes unable to stay open. Jon looked as solemn and aware as per usual. It was plain to see that he was the one who did not partake in the drinking fun.

"Let me guess," With his brow hitched, Robb decided to question the only sober one in this lot. "They tried to see who could out drink the other?"

Jon didn't even bother giving voice to such a clear-cut answer since it was obvious. He only nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Want to know who won?"

Robb was only half curious, mostly because he wanted to see the two of them argue about who won. Theon wasn't in the state to rightfully argue, though. He might just have to settle with Jon telling him. Steffon had slowly opened one eye, sweeping back some of his hair so that he could properly see. He was doing his best to act as if he still had his wits about him. "I did." The Crown Prince had sound sober. Well, if that's how sober was supposed to sound, that is. "I won. Winner is I."

"Actually," interjected Jon, "you hadn't really so much as had a drink of the last cup. Your face fell in it."

Sniffing indignantly, Steffon had seemed genuinely offended at what was most likely the truth. "That isn't true. I drunk it. Look, see for yourself that the chalice is empty."

"It is empty, but that's because you knocked it over." It was amusing to see Jon doing his best not to laugh. His half-brother so rarely smiles, even rarer does he laugh. It was only Arya and himself that could make Jon not be so grim as their lord father.

"And what of Theon? Was his last cup empty?" asked Robb.

"He thought he was pouring more wine but he ended up making a mess on the table," Jon answered him. That sounded very much something that a drunken Theon would do. He always makes a complete fool of himself. Robb shook his head, aiming to get his best friend and foster brother back on his feet. "I should have him sent to his bedchambers."

"I'll take him," Jon quickly said while taking Theon's arm and slinging it over his shoulder to properly hold him up. "This is your wedding day, don't bother with any of this."

He normally would've argued against it, mostly because everyone had known Jon and Theon had little to no love for one another. Jon did not go out of his way for Theon nor vice versa, but it was because this was his wedding day, Jon would do this for him. With a slight smile, Robb placed his hand on Jon's shoulder since he was unable to truly think of how he could properly show his gratitude. "Thank you, Jon." All he had received was a small smile and a nod before Jon diligently helped Theon out of the Great Hall.

Now that Theon was taken care of, Robb looked over to Steffon, who still only kept one eye open. "You're a married man now and married to my sister no less," Steffon suddenly said. "How does it feel? To be married, that is."

Steffon became less of a stranger over the course of the Baratheon-Lannister stay in Winterfell. He still would've felt more comfortable to speak about had it been someone else that he married. "It doesn't feel like anything, really." He kept his honesty despite how awkward he felt talking about this.

"It hasn't really set in yet," Steffon understood that much, more than Robb would think. "I suppose it won't, until it's just the two of you together in Winterfell with _your_ family." More sober than he was minutes prior, Steffon took cautious steps away from the wall, having done his best not to stumble. "My sister, my twin, means the world to me and it does me well to know she's married to someone I can trust to be good to her." Robb nodded, his smile only slightly. He understood Steffon's concerns, it was only natural as a brother and he couldn't fault him for it. Even if he was threatened, he would bear Steffon no grudge. "Keep her safe and if you can, make her happy. That's all I could ever want for her."

"I promise that Joanna is in good hands," was all Robb could think to say. It seemed to have done justice, seeing as Steffon's expression was less of concern and more relaxed. "Perhaps you should retire for the night. You don't need anything else to drink."

"You're right, I don't need more to drink but I'm afraid that I can't rest just yet. Your little sister will be most angry with me if I do." Confused as to who he meant and why, Robb furrowed his brows.

"Which one? And why would they be angry with you?" Robb questioned and halfway entertained at the idea of it being Arya. Arya's anger was nothing to dismiss, even if you were the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

Steffon smirked. "Lady Arya requested, well more like demanded, that I tell her more about my sister, Mya Stone. You know more than I of your sister's liking to hear of unconventional women." Robb believed it. He believed it wholeheartedly. "Ah, speaking of which, here she comes."

Turning his head, Robb saw his brunette of a sister and her cool grey eyes locked on Steffon, as though he were some sort of target. She should've been told to go to bed by now, but Arya had ways of sneaking out of doing most proper things. Alongside her was Bran, looking every which way, possibly on the lookout for their mother, who would put an end to their quest.

"There you are!" She was half annoyed, half giddy. Her brows were knitted together but a smile played about her lips. "What happened to telling us stories about the Vale?" So Bran wanted something out of it as well.

"Shouldn't the both of you be in bed?" inquired Robb, eyes looking back and forth between his younger siblings. "The hour of your bedtime has gone." He almost wished he hadn't chastised her. Jon was weak when it came to her and Robb did his best to stand firm yet when she made her eyes look so sad… he was just as weak, if not weaker, than Jon. So, he sighed and smiled, and she knew right away that she had beaten him. "Be sure not to get caught, understand?"

"We understand," the two of them said in unison, both grinning. Arya hurried her way to stand before Steffon, Bran following in step.

Robb decided to leave them, not wanting to be a distraction and having gotten to learn some of Steffon's stay in the Eyrie already. He aimed to find Joanna, curious if she had her fill of the night's splendour. He didn't have to look for her necessarily since his father decided to make the announcement.

With a raise of Ned Stark's hand, the entire Great Hall became quiet.

"Today is a momentous day for House Stark and House Baratheon." His father began his speech. "As promised years ago, these Houses are bound by blood and no one could be more proud than Robert and I, to see our children healthy and married. Let us give our congratulations to Robb and Joanna Stark, who from this day forward, will one day lead Winterfell and the North when I am long gone." There was applause, clapping, and cheers. Everywhere he looked, many of the lord and ladies looked overjoyed with only a few sour faces, Lord Karstark for one. "And now it is time for them to retire and with no bed ceremony to follow them to their chambers."

Robb had already stood before his wife, who stood by the side of her father with her head held high. Usually she would have her head down, eyes to the floor, but not now. It might've been the many eyes that looked at her, whispers and questions of why tradition was not to be held. The disappointment amongst the nobles wasn't great, but neither could it be missed.

"Joanna," he called her name and her green eyes looked at him with something akin to nervousness. How could she not be nervous? The both of them knew what entailed once they left and entered his bedchambers. With his arm proffered, Joanna linked her arm gingerly with his, and people parted to let them through. The path was clear, all the way to the tall and wide oak doors.

They hadn't spoken. Robb was sure that they both were feeling uncertain of what to say, he absolutely was. This was awkward and odd, new to the both of them. What kind of conversation could loosen the oppressive, strange silence that fell between them?

"Did you feel wronged?" The voice that belonged to his wife broke through the silence. "About the bedding ceremony not being held?"

He opened the door to his bedchambers first, letting her take first entrance before following behind and giving her an answer. "I'm actually relieved we didn't have it," he said, trying to smile to ease the tension. "Some traditions are best skipped over."

"You did not want those ladies to remove your clothes?" Joanna was genuinely curious of that. She even wanted to look at him as he told her feelings about it. His wife was strange sometimes; inquisitive and strange. You never knew what her mood would be.

"Does that really matter right now?" She frowned at his question, looking a bit annoyed, even. Did she really want to know whether or not he'd like to be stripped nude by women he didn't know? It hadn't bothered him, not truly. It was intrusive but not troublesome on his end of things. It was her that he worried for.

"I was only asking a question…" Joanna mumbled indignantly, unfortunately reminding him of her twin-brother.

"Fine, I'll answer you." The last he wanted was to begin this union with her angry with him. "But that's not what makes me relieved it was skipped. It was more of the idea that you didn't have to suffer through it."

Joanna tried to hide her smile, but she failed. "Is that the way of the Starks? You think so heavily on the feelings of your family? Even me, who hasn't been a Stark for a whole day?"

"You are my wife," Robb reminded her. "Why would I not think of your feelings?"

"It's just… new to me, is all." Her eyes looked down at her hands, seemingly to fiddle with them as she had always done when nervous or afraid. Robb was picking up all her little habits quickly. "So, what happens now?"

Robb shifted, suddenly feeling all-too unsure of himself. He couldn't leave a single thing up to her, though. If he did, then they would be going nowhere fast. His steps were leisurely, only coming to stand before her just to brush back some of her blonde hair that laid over her shoulder. She watched him with cautious eyes and a blush staining her face.

"We should probably undress first." He smiled, hoping to lighten her mood.

"Oh, yes," she replied as color still stained her cheeks, "I should probably take this off, right? I can't have it ruined. It's a precious gift." Her hand went to rub her neck, however. "Uh, would you… Would you, well, get the laces? I… I can't untie them."

She spun quickly, her back turned to him and undid what he had done to her hair, by bringing it back over her shoulders. She only did it so he could have clear access to the laces of her wedding dress that ran up the back of it.

While this was awkward and not ideal, Robb couldn't help but be slightly pleased at her sudden request. With just a hint of hesitation, he pulled off his leather gloves and threw them atop of the nearby desk. He would have to tug the laces carefully since he felt his hands to be too large for such a task, which already seemed all too delicate to do. Regardless, Robb was determined to help and plucked at the dainty laces, thinning his lips as he worked whilst trying to be patient.

It came as a surprise when her dress began to slip, revealing the sight of the creamy skin of her back and the thin material of a white, silken slip. Gods, she looked soft. Fragile, even. Yet, he was so tempted to touch her, that his hands moved as if they had a mind of their own. His fingertips were trailing sinuously down her back. Her skin was so smooth that Robb couldn't help but to huff out a pleased noise from the sight and feel.

All he had known was the hard bite of steel and unbearably cold days that sometimes would end quickly or seem like they never would. The feel of a woman under his hands was a touch he had never known since he deprived himself from it because he wanted to choose the honorable path.

Robb stopped marveling at her when he realized Joanna had shivered at his touch. Just from the slight movement of her body, the dress had gone even further down her shoulders, revealing more flesh. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest, thudding ever so loudly, that he would've sworn Joanna could have heard it too. A primal part of his mind was even more tempted to push her dress all the way down.

Joanna glanced over her shoulder, eyes meeting his, and said absolutely nothing. He knew not what to make of her stare, as she held her loosened dress to her breasts, clinging to this very half-hearted sense of modesty.

He could only sigh since his mind was a muddled mess, leaving him completely unsure of what to say or do. If he acted out on his urges, she would loathe him. All of this was unbearably agonizing because while he may not yet love her, he desired her. He hated the way she turned to him, arms pressed against her chest to not rid her body of the dress that he's halfway ready to tear, despite her affections for it.

Since the quiet was silently driving him mad, he took advantage of it by leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her lips. The taste of summerwine was faint, but his wife seemed so rigid over such a press of lips, that he thought he might've behaved too impulsively. Thinking himself wrong and abhorrently selfish, Joanna caught both sides his face by the hands and kept him from pulling away.

Tugging her mouth off his, Joanna took a step back, removing her arms from her breasts to let the gown slip further down since it was halted from her grasp. She even slid down the straps of her slip, making both slip and dress slid down her waist, pooling right under her pert breasts. Her pink nipples were already hardened and not from cool air either, for Winterfell was always warm.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Robb had done his best to make sure that the pain she would come to feel wouldn't be as sore had she not been relaxed. Whether it was an exploration of his digits in her sex, languid open-mouth kissing that turned to teeth nipping flesh of sensitive spots she never knew were on her neck. He had done it at a pace that would keep her from harboring tension, but she still felt it heavy in her chest, coiling in her stomach, and in the muscles of her thighs. It all came to be when they were finally free of clothes and he settled atop of her, on the bed, because the inevitable was too many seconds close to happening.

"We can stop." The offer was surprising and it left her confused. "We won't do anything you don't want to." It doesn't matter what she wants …and for Robb to care about what she wants…

"No, I want this." It's not a complete lie. It was, at first, initially hard to decipher what she felt and what to make of it. She knew that she desired Robb and whether or not her desire was charged by her inexperience or her attraction to him was what left her muddled. She's confused, rightfully so, because she would've loved to love the man who was to take away what their world deems so important to a woman: her chastity. "Please," Joanna practically begged, hating herself for having made him worry and thinking of things she knows were never meant to happen to someone like her. Joanna knew her place, but her heart… It's such a stubborn thing that does more than beats diligently in her chest.

Robb nodded, slowly but with understanding. Joanna had forced herself to relax, breathing slowly as she felt the head of his length nudge her folds. He eased into her with precaution, not all daring to rush it, but she hated the way he was watching her closely and Joanna was sure he saw her wincing.

"Joanna," There's a bit of force in his tone. It makes her look at him, eyes glossing and daring to blur her world grey. "Are you okay?" She hoped she could blink her tears away as she nodded, encouraging him to slide further in.

All that leaves her lips is a loud, pain-filled hiss and he stopped again, sweetly concerned. "I'm sorry, Joanna." Robb tried to be soothing and assuring. With one deep inhale and a rather shaky exhale, Joanna tried to relax herself so he could continue. Then this could all be over with. Perhaps the worst part is essentially over, but she immediately deems the thought wrong, when he is finally able to hilt himself with a few gentle thrusts.

His forehead came to rest against hers, blue eyes staring steadily into her own as if she desired this. Robb was trying make this romantic for her, by making her look into the very blue hues she found to be the most attractive feature about him. While his words always carried a sense of pity to her ears, it was his gaze that told her all the soft endearments that he was trying to vocally convey.

To convince him that she was ready, having had enough time to adjust to the feel of him, Joanna let her fingers cling to the warm skin of his back. Carefully, he eased himself out before sliding back in a steady thrust. Pain sparked, just for the briefest of moments, and the look in his eyes gives her another genuine apology.

It takes time but a rhythm is found and its pace is slow and gentle. All the strangeness of this intrusion is forgotten when he presses his lips against her neck. One hand of his hopes to replace the pain with a press of his thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves.

Underneath her fingers, as they cling against his back, is the feel of straining muscles because he's doing his best to hold back. "It's okay," her voice is a breathy whisper, "move as you'd like." He sighed in relief as he drove into her again, much more roughly and at a pace she could tell that he had desperately desired these past several minutes.

She found it—or rather felt it—her own elation begin to build from his savage thrusts. A guttural, discordant cry had left him as his hands bruising as they clutched her hips once she quickened their pace, seeking to feed the heat that grew in her belly that had burned, white and hot.

Joanna's eyes fluttered shut when he followed over the edge, pouring the seed that will end this communion once and for all. She used Robb as an anchor, clenching unfearingly around him, while clinging to him tightly with arms and thighs.

It was over.

She had rightfully done her duty.

In a daze, she lied there, chest heaving to catch her breath that feels like it'll never come back to her. Robb eased his length from her, collapsing onto his back beside her on the mattress. He slung his forearm loosely over his eyes, exhausted and stunned all at once.

That was it. She had nothing left of Joanna Baratheon; not her name, her rank and now her chastity. Once her family was gone, she would be Joanna Stark completely, both in body and name.

* * *

 **A/N:** Awkward first night is awkward. At least all of this is finally out of the way and I get to the more fun parts. / rubs hands mischievously )

I also just want to make it known that with each pov there is some unreliable narration. After all, that's _their_ point of view about things. You can take that how you want. c:

Sparky She-Demon: Sassy or not, I'm pretty sure that she'll be a great character either way! As long as Robb is alive and loved, that's all that matters. Lol.

Wombat8: I'm cackling! Robert knows he's a fuck-up, so I think it's easy to be surprised why his kids aren't as bad if not worse then him. Then again, that isn't so true because he's really surprised about Joffrey. But, still, he knows he's an awful parent and I think that's one of the very few things I liked about him... Though I hate that he realized that while dying and not earlier on.

Pikapyon: Omggg you're reading this too? Ah, I'm glad you like it. / screams internally ) Thank you.


	7. Asunder, Part One

**_STEFFON_**

"Fucking Seven hells…" The words blurted out on pure feeling, not once a brushing thought, before they left his mouth. There was an ache that ebbed in the back of his skull, flowing like a cold tide. Nausea came in tempestuous waves to add to his misery, forcing him to be completely still. He would've stuck to staying where he was, just to gather himself for a moment, but his dehydration was much too obvious to ignore. The flagon of water was on the other side of the room, which left him to wonder just how many steps it would take before his stomach would lurch, until he so much as touched the flagon's handle.

Raising his heavy eyelids halfway, he made them fall shut for a few minutes before opening them again. His vision was beginning to clear, the sleepy haze fading, but when he moved to sit up, he felt as if that had been a terrible mistake. The world began to swirl and so he had to wait—rather impatiently, too—for the room to become stationary again. Fully sitting up now, he combed his mussed hair back away from his face and let out a sigh that was full of aggravation. He deserved this for drinking so much. He drunk past his limit and he's usually so meticulous about drinking, seeing how much of a drunkard his father was, and still is.

Loreon, who should've been resting on his personal pillow, laid on his side at the end of the featherbed with a deep rumbling snore. If he was sleeping now, Steffon shouldn't expect for him to be awake until late in the evening, which was somewhat disappointing considering the hunt today. No doubt the lion was bored after being locked up all evening because neither lion nor direwolf were allowed to attend the reception in the Great Hall or the wedding itself. He wondered if he could ask Joanna if he could bring Calla along, surely the huntress of the species would love the freedom and the thrill of a fresh kill. Only seconds before Steffon could bother to stretch his arm and lean forward to rub the Hrakkar's back, he heard flapping wings. His blue eyes slew left, seeing that on the sill of the window was a messenger raven.

Quickly, Steffon eased himself out of the bed, only to have waves of nausea make him utterly miserable. It hadn't stopped him from moving forward, even if his footfalls were sluggish. Once he was close enough towards the window, the bird flew in and perched itself on Steffon's outstretched arm. Gently, he took the letter bound to its leg, making sure it wasn't tampered with first before unrolling it. Seeing its job was done, the raven flapped its wings, squawked, and went right out the window to fly its way back South.

Steffon hoped this was the letter he had been eagerly expecting for the past two months. It was already dangerous and reckless on his part, for having anything concerning his dealings back home be flown out here. What other choice did he have? He had not expected for his stay in Winterfell to be this long and considering how important this was, he had to know right away, if one of the many things he planted had borne fruit.

 _Issa gaomagon,_ _(I_ _t is don_ _e)_ _  
Laehossa elekossā aōhyzy_ _(s_ _igned, your eyes and ear_ _s)_

Had it not been for the Maester of House Penrose, Steffon would've never been able to learn High Valyrian. A language that was so useful for secrets and to strengthen him as a proper ruler when he sat the Iron Throne. It was impossible to learn it in King's Landing, especially in the Red Keep. If Steffon dared to stand before his father and ask be to taught it, he would've been called mad and the language would be damned from earth to high heavens. It would've incensed Robert to know his son wanted to learn the language that used to roll off the silver tongues of the Targaryens. Not once would his king father consider how Valyrian was still a strong, prominent language across the seas and knowing only one kind of tongue was a fool's choice. Steffon loved his father immensely, but he also knew that anger made fools of many men.

Having processed the letter and feeling rather satisfied by the results, Steffon tossed the parchment into the fireplace to let the orange and yellow flames consume it. Not one soul could know what he was up to, not even his twin. His mother had many eyes, Varys and Baelish did too, but little had they known that Steffon had more than just eyes at his command.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Joanna rolled her eyes open, unveiling green hues glazed with remnants of a dreamless sleep. The haze, that temporarily made her unable to see clearly, didn't really reveal much when it finally disappeared. She can hardly think that morning is upon her. Just like the stone walls of Winterfell, the room was lacking of bright colors; just plain, grey, and dim. Sunlight couldn't pour in, and bathe her and the bedchamber with its warm, sweet glow to give a little taste of heat on her skin. The cause of such a dark atmosphere were the clouds that were already dominating the morning sky, only leaving small patches of blue. She's so used to brightness and sun that a morning like this doesn't bring her any pleasure. It doesn't make her want her to rouse from out of the bed to prepare for the day as a proper lady should. It only serves to make her weary. Weary enough that all she wants to do is lie down and sleep it all away.

Lazily, she rolled onto her other side only to find an eyeful of her husband's sleeping face. He's even handsome as he sleeps and it doesn't surprise her much. As if her hand had a mind of its own, Joanna inched a finger towards Robb's face, the slender digit slowly traced the curve of his jaw, feeling the stubble that's been growing since his face was shaved clean for the wedding. It went from the curve of his strong jaw and down his chin, which began to jut from under her touch. In an instant, she quickly withdrew her hand as if he were fire itself. And right then, blue eyes began to open. _He knows_ , she fearfully thought. _He knows I touched him._

"You're awake…" Because his voice is laced with sleep, making it soft and whisper-like, it's somewhat difficult for her to understand what exactly it is that he said. Honestly, it might've been the fact that her heart was pumping so loud and fast that she was having trouble hearing much of anything. And because she didn't want to make it known that she hadn't understood, Joanna settled for a simple nod.

As if he was clueless to what she had done, he rolled onto his back and blinked a few times before rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He wasn't going to question what she did? Nor was he going to say a word about it? Did he not feel strange or annoyed that she laid so much as a finger on him while he slept? "We should eat breakfast together," Robb suddenly suggested while sitting up, throwing her deeper into her groundless pit of confusion. "Or would you rather bathe first?"

Still dumbfounded, all Joanna could manage to do was stare at him as if he were speaking some foreign tongue. "I…" Joanna tried to scramble up some words to say and failing each minute that passed. _Is he messing with my head?_ she asked herself, wondering if she was thinking too much. "…I want to bathe first." Any idea to confront him about what happened minutes ago completely went up in smoke.

Robb climbed out of the bed to slip on a pair of loose trousers to make himself presentable, seeing as he was eager to move around. She did her best not to linger on his form although her eyes kept trying to put her peripherals to use. Joanna sat herself up, blankets clutched to her chest as she drew her knees in close. It felt voyeuristic to even think to watch him despite the glaring obvious that he was now her husband and she saw him without clothes last night. The night was dark, however. Dim as it was this morning, she could see more of him now than she did at night.

"What was it that you were doing?" Robb came to question, picking up his tunic while she sat there frozen. "When you were touching my face, I mean."

If she could scream without alarming him and all of Winterfell, Joanna would have. It was pure willpower that kept her mouth shut tight. Her eyes, however, were doing all the screaming she couldn't in her right mind give voice to. Squeezing her eyelids shut, she turned her head opposite of where he stood and inwardly prayed to the Seven, that this was all some strange dream she was surely going to wake up from in a matter of minutes. That wasn't going to happen. She sorely realized that when Robb let out a snort of a laugh once he soaked in the look on her face.

Feeling scorched with embarrassment, Joanna tried to spike up some courage to open her eyes and meet his. Robb's bright blues were crinkled at their corners as his mouth fixed itself into a lopsided grin. "You had something on your face." The words flew out of her mouth without thought. It didn't sound… bad. In fact, Joanna believed she could work well with this lie.

"Really?" His hand went towards his face, the tip of his finger tracing from his jaw and to chin in the same likeness as hers had. "From here to here I had something on my face?"

He was mocking her. Essentially calling her bluff. He wanted her to just oust herself and she couldn't comprehend why she suddenly felt bull-headed. "Are you calling me a liar, Robb Stark?" she questioned, her brow arched. It was childish of her to continue with this lie. He knew the truth. Robb was no fool. What was she aiming to accomplish anyway?

There was something predator-like with the way he approached the bed and it made her utterly nervous. He sat at his end but leaned close so that their faces were mere inches apart. She flushed, brightly, by his actions but for once, she decided not to instantly cower back and keep her eyes fixated on him. "And if I am, Joanna Stark?" Her heart hammered and then it suddenly, achingly breaks.

 _Joanna Stark._

How queer it sounded. It makes her want to tear almost. She found herself wanting to cry because such a strange name belonged to her now and that small sense of self she had built felt squandered into a little corner. Joanna Stark is Robb Stark's wife and Joanna Baratheon, she's… she's gone. She knew that. She knew that last night and it wasn't like Joanna Baratheon was much of a real person anyway. Since when had she ever felt like a true Baratheon? It's the Lannister name that beckoned her and it's the Lannister name she'll never have. It's in her blood but never her name.

Her courage faltered within an instant and her shoulders slowly drooped. Her eyes tore themselves away from Robb to look towards the window, having dismissed herself from their fun to childishly mope. "Joanna, are you alright?" Robb pursued and she could hear the concern embedded in his voice.

"I'm fine." The corners of her lips lift to conjure up a taut smile. She could only hope that he had not picked up on the struggle in her voice. "I was just… thinking about the hunt is all." It's a lie, a little white one. She hadn't thought about the hunt at all. It was the furthest thing from her mind in truth.

He kept a hard stare as he gazed at her and she wondered if he could see the deception on her face. Her smile was a clear giveaway, but she could only hope he'd be kind and not think much of it. "The hunt? What about it?" Of course, why would a person like her think about some silly hunt? Joanna would just have to make do with this excuse.

"It's just that I'm not surprised that my father wants to go hunting just a day after our wedding. It was only a week before my mother gave birth to Steffon and I that my father had went hunting for a stag. He claimed to have thought my mother was only having a boy and its good fortune if you hunt a stag in a time of celebration." Robb listened intently, eyes never averting and for some reason, she hadn't felt nervous anymore.

"He killed two during that hunt and said he hadn't realized that it was the Seven telling him that he was going to have not one child but two." Joanna still had the pelt back in King's Landing. She kept it in one of her armoires, untouched and tucked neatly where she could always find it. If only she had known to have brought it with her… "If I am to be honest, I think he was just bored with waiting for our birth and he's bored right now, that's why he called for this hunt."

She had not noticed the smile that came across his face. Her eyes were too trained on fiddling with her fingers as she could almost hear her father's hearty laugh as he told her that tale. "You know him well."

"I know him _very_ well," Joanna replied with a half-smile.

Before Robb could utter another word, their conversation was interrupted by a knock at their door. It must've been the servants, ready to collect the bloodied sheets to prove the marriage had been consummated. "You should put something on," he said. It wasn't what he was going to tell her minutes ago, but Joanna knew that their conversation could be continued when he came back from the hunt.

With a quiet nod, Joanna eased from out of the bed and picked up her slip and slid it on. Robb turned his head to check if she was dressed before he opened the door to let the servants flock in. "Do you require anything, My Lord and Lady?" One servant asked while the other three were gathering the old sheets to replace them with new ones.

"A bath and tray of breakfast will be all," Joanna answered for them, seeing as Robb looked to entertained by Aleyth and Emeline, her friends and handmaidens, that were peering through the sides of the fully open door. She wanted to laugh, but she felt thoroughly embarrassed by their actions. They must've been so eager to ask what the wedding night was like that they couldn't hold back their excitement. Sometimes they could be so troublesome…

Crossing his arms, Robb slightly canted his head. "Are you two going to peek through the door or come in?" he asked, his voice calm with a playful hint.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Joanna watched them become wide-eyed and turn their direction to their half-dressed lord and shyly shake their heads. "W-We can wait, My Lord." And just like that, they scurried down the hall and Joanna could hear their giggling along with their scurrying feet.

 ** _ARYA_**

It's time to make her way to the Great Hall for the morning meal and she's eager than she usually is. It isn't her hunger that has the thrill in her thrumming, but the possibilities of more stories she wants to force out of the Crown Prince until he has nothing left to tell. Until late into the night, Steffon told them about the Vale and the Stormlands; adventures, sights, and the people he has met and old stories he was told. He regaled on his travels with such fondness that she felt like she could breathe in the stormy air of the Stormlands and envision herself standing before the Mountains of the Moon. She'll never get to see any of those things, she already knows that much, it's just all in good fun to simply pretend.

As soon as she had cut the corner, her eyes caught sight of Prince Steffon's back as he neared the end of the hall, just a step away from entering the stairway. Her eyes lit up and her feet had her charging forward. "You're awake!" Arya shouted. He slowed his steps to a halt and halfway turned to look at her and wait, standing in that one spot until she's at his side. It almost amused her—actually a little more than almost if she's more truthful about it—that he doesn't mind walking alongside her to the Great Hall. Surely boys his age don't like being seen with little girls, she suspected.

"I'm awake," he said rather teasingly. There's something off about him, though. Arya can't quite put her finger on it, she can only faintly sense it. "And apparently so are you."

Within a second, she puts the pieces together. The corners of her mouth had begun to lift into a knowing smile. "You have it, don't you? That ache you get in the head when you drink too much wine. I know because Theon and Robb used to be sick in the morn whenever they drink too much."

There's a flash that comes across his eyes, like he's a little shocked that she guessed right. People underestimated her far too much. They think because she's young that she doesn't know certain things but Arya knows. She knows plenty. "I don't have an ache in the head." He's lying through his teeth. He has no reason to lie unless he wants to do as Robb calls it 'save his face' or 'save face', whichever it is.

"Liar," Arya bluntly spat, not at all feeling the need to be mindful of her words.

"Alright," he gave in, chuckling as he did. "I have an ache in the head as you call it." The Prince raised a hand, two fingers began massaging his right temple to further prove how right she was. She feels sorry for him, just a little bit. Although it's mostly his fault for drinking so much, he must've gotten too wrapped up in the festivities to keep himself from drinking until he's ill.

"Tell Gage and he'll fix you something to make you feel better. He makes some kind of stew that Theon and Robb like to eat when they have aching heads," Arya advised. "We can tell him together, if you'd like, that is."

He contemplated it for a moment before giving her a slow nod. "Lead the way, Lady Arya." In an instant, her face instantly scrunched up with displeasure for being called a lady. He's teasing her, she knew that much, especially having previously gotten a mouthful when she told him she hadn't liked it yesterday.

"There's going to be a hunt today," Steffon suddenly brought up, as he opened the door that led to the stairway, allowing her first entry before following close behind. Arya heard the King announce it last night but hadn't put too much thought to it. No matter how much she could beg to be brought along, her father would never allow it. "If Gage rids me of this ache in my head, I'll fetch you an animal of your choosing."

Surprised as well as confused, Arya lifted her brows. "What? Why would you do that for me?" She would've rather hunt the animal herself. Her curiosity, however, cannot helped to be stroked as she tried to figure out why Steffon would go out of his way over a simple suggestion.

"Because I know how much you would rather be out there yourself." She fought the smile that was trying to take over her face. The corner of her lips kept twitching and she bashfully averted her eyes. "I don't think I can exactly convince your lord father to let you go and so I thought getting you what you would've liked to hunt was the next best thing." He was thoughtful and sympathetic, and Arya knew not what to make of it. She was thankful but came to find herself much too hesitant—shy is a word she'd never accept—to say so. "I remember when I was seven and I wanted to go hunting with my father. He almost let me until my mother strictly forbade it."

It wasn't exactly the same. She couldn't go because she is a girl, but he couldn't go that one time because he was young. Eventually he got to hunt alongside his father and have all the fun she can only assume to be had during a hunt. She would never be given the chance. It wasn't fair. Never was anything fair as far as she was concerned. "What was it like? Your first time hunting."

"Terrible," he answered rather wistfully, eyes looking unfocused as he recalled the memory. "I didn't kill a single thing and Ser Barristan had let me believe I caught myself a rabbit with my amateur traps." Arya snickered, unable to control the laugh that was bubbling within. He eyed her with false annoyance before the corner of his mouth lifted up to make a small smile. "It took me a few more failures until I was able to kill a few rabbits on my own and help take down a wild boar."

"You helped? You didn't kill it yourself?"

"It was nearly dead when I killed it. I climbed a tree and waited for it then I jumped down when it was right where I wanted it to be. Trust me when I say that was the stupidest thing I've ever done and I've done _plenty_ of stupid things as a boy." He then placed a hand just inches above the left side of his waist. "Right here is the scar I have from fighting that beast. If it weren't already on its last leg from my father's spear, it might've killed me."

"You really are stupid." He laughed, not at all taking offense by her jest. "But how did you kill it?"

"Stabbed it in its neck until it wouldn't stop moving." _Brutal_ , she thought. "My father has its head hung up on a wall in the Great Hall back in the Red Keep. He even put the dagger I used next to it along with his spear." Arya hoped that when she went south that she would be able to see it for herself.

"Are you boring the poor lady with a story?" The both of them went down the last step before turning around to see Sansa, Jeyne Poole, and the young woman she heard to be Isolde Prester. The three of them looked like such dignified ladies as they descended down the stairs. It made Arya look down at her own dress, seeing how underwhelmed she appeared compared to the three of them. Her grey eyes peered up at Steffon, who didn't look all that enthused as he gazed at them. He seemed more annoyed, if anything, at Lady Prestor.

With an indignant sniff, Steffon rose a brow. "You don't find my stories all that boring when I'm telling them to you. Jealous, are we?"

"Of Arya?" Jeyne scoffed, almost as if she took offense for Isolde.

Isolde glanced at Jeyne's direction, almost as if she hadn't expected such an outburst. It was then that Arya caught on that Steffon and Isolde were merely teasing one another, not at all serious. Jeyne, however, took it plainly.

"Aye," Steffon thinned his eyes as he spoke, "of Arya. I find the lady to be good company. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" His friendly and approachable persona quickly dove left. It was almost frightening, as well as amusing, to see all at once. With a smirk, Arya wondered how Jeyne was going to try talk herself out of this one. The Poole girl had always been mean since Arya could remember, mostly ever since she became closer to Sansa over the years. She had called Arya many names, yet none of them stung like Arya Horseface. All the attacks were always based on her not so lady-like looks and ways. It was all in efforts to higher Sansa's place on the pedestal that their very own mother and septa already placed her on.

Having come to realize that Steffon was not fond of the remark she made, Jeyne flushed brightly. "B-By all means necessary, My Prince, I mean no offense."

As quickly as his expression darkened, it brightened. His narrowed eyes soon softened and his frown was replaced with a slight smile. Arya had never seen someone change faces so fast and she was sure that he bested Sansa in that regard. "Please forgive, Jeyne, My Prince. Sometimes she utters nonsense when nervous." Giving her friend a pointed look, Sansa soon smiled pleasantly at Steffon in hopes to make amends. Sansa could charm her way out of anything, especially out of trouble. Arya almost wanted to add a little salt to the wound until she begrudgingly realized that it might make her look bad.

"All is forgiven," Steffon quickly dismissed the matter before fixating his gaze down at Arya's. "Let's continue our way to the Great Hall with no further delay, Lady Arya."

With a grin, Arya walked alongside the prince with a little spring to her step. _That'll show you, Jeyne Poole._

 ** _CATELYN_**

Before her was the Seven Who Are One, carved onto the wall above unadorned alters. Catelyn had come to love this sept, small and homespun as it was, because it still brought her hope that all the faces were present as she spoke her prayers. Not only that, her love for it grew immensely over the very fact that Ned had it built just for her. He could've coerced her to convert to the religion of the Old Gods, to make her settle for the heart tree, but he hadn't. Not once. He held no love, only duty for her at that time when we had done this sweet gesture and that's what made it all the more meaningful. Ned didn't need to love her to understand her and that's what made the love that did bloom between them twice as strong. Twice as sweet.

With a small smile, Catelyn aimed to gather the candles and put them in their proper places, but the door had suddenly opened. Light from the hallway came in, flooding the room with dull light and allowing her to see Joanna clearly. The young girl was surprised by the sight of her but soon that surprise morphed into something apologetic. It didn't take a second for an apology to spill from the girl's lips. "Forgive me, good-mother, I hadn't known you were here."

"Have you come to pray?" Catelyn softly asked, not at all bothered by her presence. Joanna didn't voice her answer, she simply gave a shy smile and a nod. With a wave of her hand, she urged the young girl to come in further and with resolute steps, Joanna left the doorway and fully entered the sept. She came to kneel beside Catelyn, hands nervously laced together atop of her thighs as she looked up at the carvings. "It's small, isn't it?"

The Royal Sept in the Red Keep was said to be beautiful. She heard that they had statues made of white marble of the Seven, all of them posed in ways that suited them. The sept Catelyn grew up with in Riverrun had paintings on marble, no statues; a rainbow of light would fill the entire sandstone building, bathing all who stepped in it with its colors. "I rather like how small this sept is," said Joanna. "It feels… home-like." Intrigued, Catelyn kept her eyes on her good-daughter as she spoke; "Like they can truly hear you here."

"I feel the same." Catelyn looked up at the Mother, having felt a full sense of peace. Was it Her that led Joanna here? Did she think the two of them should start molding their now newly forged bond? Or had the Crone wanted Catelyn to give the girl guidance? After all, she was freshly married and would soon be without the family she had known since birth. This girl was her good-daughter now and it only made sense for Catelyn to be the one to lead her by the hand until Joanna could walk upright on her own. "Would you like to light the candles with me?" It was childish how eager Joanna was to do so, but Catelyn found her excitement endearing.

Seven candles rested on the flagstones, ready to be placed on the altars. Though one never truly prays to the Stranger, the Stranger should never be forgotten. Joanna had taken three and Catelyn took the remaining four, the both of them quietly and piously during their duty. Once they met up for the last candle, they merged their flames at the end of their wooden light stick to light a flame on the visible string. The young girl smiled, brightly, overjoyed by a simple gesture and it reminded Catelyn of the time spent with Sansa when she enjoyed praying at her side until she had prayers of her own she wanted to ask alone or with Jeyne.

When the sticks were put out, Joanna and Catelyn knelt down before the altars. Prayer could not come to Catelyn, however. Instead, she found herself distracted by the girl kneeling at her side, who did not pray either. Joanna only stared at the faces of the Seven, her eyes more concentrated on the Crone more than the others. "You're a woman-grown now in all the ways it matters." Catelyn glanced at the Crone herself, having fully understood why She was the one that Joanna sought. "I suppose you are looking for guidance as a wife, as a lady, and as a young woman who has given up plenty. I once looked for the Crone as you are now, feeling just as lost as you must be."

Joanna lowered her gaze, pressing a thumb into the palm of her left hand out of distraction. "My House words were 'Family. Duty. Honor.' and I had to forsake them for 'Winter is Coming'. What had I known about Winter or the merciless ways of the North as I hailed from the Riverlands? I knew not one thing and yet I had try to learn and understand all on my own. It was difficult to even think of giving up all my values as a Tully for the values of the Starks. I still keep my values, honor them, and teach them to my children. Marriage doesn't mean you forget yourself, it means you grow."

Relief was sewn in her sigh. It was soft in sound yet heavy, like a burden or weight had been lessened. Her shoulders began to lose their tension and she raised her head. "I needed to hear that," Joanna admitted. "Thank you."

"Surely my words are no better than what the Crone can tell you." Tearing her eyes away from Joanna, she focused on the small flames that swayed. "I can only tell you from what I've experienced and should you need to hear more or require advice then I am here."

 ** _CERSEI_**

It never sat well with her whenever Steffon and Joffrey were at odds with each other. Their bickering became more frequent over the years and she knew well enough that Joffrey was to blame for most of their disputes. But she could never find herself admonishing Joffrey. Joffrey needed her more, way more than Steffon ever did, and that's why she forced him to be able to not rely on her. _You must be kinder to your brother, Steffon._ Cersei would tell him, her words feeling as hollow as the looks he gives her now. _You are the elder, the heir apparent, and will be king. You will lead where others must follow. You must never treat Joffrey badly, or others will find him weak._ Back then, back when Steffon was so much easier to tame with soothing words, he would always apologize and kiss her cheek. He would always be the first to offer his hand to make amends with Joffrey without hesitation. Now? Now she could hardly keep him in the same room with her alone.

There was not one time that it didn't amaze her how completely different her sons are. She carried them both inside her womb, but the seeds are why their differences are so great. All that she had hoped for in a son by Jaime was all in the son Robert had given her. Steffon, as a child, was charming, humorous, and was always full of joy that knew no restraint. He used to laugh at everything, always had a smile for those born high and low. Everyone in the Red Keep loved him and adored him, and they still do now. He has changed, matured as Cersei would like to think. His smiles are reserved and his eyes are always observing, his mind never full as he always hungers for knowledge.

Joffrey, as a child, had troublesome curiosity. It would always start out innocent and then twist itself into something terrible. He used to smile quite often and his smiles would have no deeper intentions behind them other than happiness, but now? Cersei closed her eyes and shook her head, as the chalice of wine remained in her hand. _I think of you too often, Joff. It's not fair to Steffon. It never was fair._ Because she's so consumed by him, Steffon keeps his distance from her now. He still loves her, Cersei knows and feels his love for her, but he loves her from afar now. She could never keep a Baratheon man close, not her own husband and now her son.

"Are you sure it's wise for Joffrey to attend the hunt?" Jaime stood by the window, his arms crossed as he could see the entire courtyard from here. "It will already be suspicious that I'm not going, not that I want to anyway."

"I want you here and nobody will dare to question what it is that _I_ want." Placing the chalice down on the nearest table, she met him by the window and looked down to see Joffrey waiting for his horse to be saddled by a stable-boy. "Steffon won't allow anything to happen to him. He'll be fine."

"It's not Joff that I'm worried about." Her golden hair whipped across her face as she spun to face her brother. What was he insinuating? That Joffrey would lay harm to Steffon during the hunt? "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if Joffrey—"

"Don't! Don't say another word." He will not say it. She'll never allow him to speak such awful paranoia into existence. Her children will not harm and most definitely not kill one another. She would do any and everything in her power to prevent it. Never mind that the words of the Woods Witch would come to mind, echoing and whispering like a shadow's song; a horrendous lullaby that she is never meant to forget.

Jaime fixed a look at her, completely showing his thoughts clear as day. It wouldn't be the first time he claimed that she was purposely being blind to the faults of her children. "That isn't why I asked you to stay, Jaime." Wanting to put aside this conversation, she walked away from the window and laced her fingers. "There are other worries to be discussed and we can't speak of them here."

"Is that your way of telling me to find a nice, quiet place to talk in Ned Stark's gloomy castle?" His sarcasm is unwanted right now, but she still loves him for it.

"It is," she replied, "and you best be quick about it."

 ** _STEFFON_**

"That's one fine Destrier if I ever saw one… Even if she is a biter," said Hullen, the Master of Horse of Winterfell. He tried to calm Steffon's mare after Hodor, who Steffon only recently learned to be a stable-boy, seemed to have given up after nearly being bitten four times.

"Forgive me," Steffon quickly apologized. "I should've warned beforehand that she likes to bite strangers." Every stable-boy Steffon hired to take care of the horse eventually got themselves wounded. It would seem she didn't like the Northmen just as much as she didn't like the Southern ones. "I'll ready her saddle myself." Hullen nodded understandingly before ordering Hodor to ready another horse.

"She's beautiful," commented Arya, who followed him out to the stables after the morning meal. Every man fit to hunt was out here, readying themselves to prepare for the wolfswood but she could not be bothered with the likes of them. After listening to several stories she tried to squeeze out of him, Arya seemed to have other reasons for wanting to stay in his company. Steffon didn't mind, though. Not in the slightest. He rather enjoyed Arya and her viewpoints of the world.

The mare she came to admire was Shadow Runner; a Destrier mare and one that was never supposed to be Steffon's in the first place. His Uncle Renly bought it years ago, but the horse just wouldn't stay with him. As a yearling, she was wild, not wanting to be locked inside the stables of Storm's End. She broke free, ran off into the countryside of the Reach with no attempts of ever coming back. It was Steffon that looked for her and returned her back to his uncle, taming it well enough that the mare allowed him to ride her back. Seeing as the horse didn't want to part with him after all the trouble he went through to find her, Renly had let him keep her and since then, Steffon was never without her.

She was swift and powerful with strong, long legs that were heavily muscled due to vigorous training and time spent wandering off when Steffon allowed her. That was the only way to keep the horse happy; she had to know that she still had the freedom to go wherever she please, even if she must come back to him when he called her name or when the day was done.

People claimed she could run so quick that she hardly casted a shadow during her sprint, which was why she given the name Shadow Runner out of all the pretty or legendary names he could've gave her. Not to mention, he was ten when he named her and so it had a childish quality whenever he thinks about it. Despite her name, prowess and speed, most people were fascinated by the black flame-shaped birthmark on her forehead that contrasted from her white coat and peeked out from until her platinum blond mane. It gave her some strange fierceness than her height and muscles ever could.

But Arya could not be put off by it. With careful steps, the Stark girl inched close to the mare with purpose. She was clearly absolved from any fear that usually comes forward in people when in Shadow Runner's presence, but what did he really expect? Direwolves and lions put no fear in her heart, after all. Once close enough, she placed a hand on the horse's neck, fingers pressed together as she glided across Shadow's mane in gentle strokes. "She likes you," Steffon commented, noticing Arya's smug smile that grew from his words. "Want to take her for a ride?"

Whipping her head to face him, she looked up at him with hope on the edge of disbelief. "Can I? I mean… not now, but… soon?"

"Whenever," answered Steffon as he slipped on his rider's gloves. "You'll be coming with us to King's Landing, won't you?" Her smile was broad and bright, like a beaming star before she looked back at the horse she had been carefully petting.

"But what if my father won't let me? He still makes me ride ponies." Her smile quickly fell into a frown as she realized that she may have been too young for a much older and experienced horse.

"I think he'll be more than willing to let you if I promise your safety." He couldn't exactly promise her that. Lord Stark might still see the danger of allowing Arya to ride a Destrier, even if she was under supervision. "Have you chosen the animal you want me to hunt in your place?"

Turning away from Shadow Runner, Arya took on a look of thought. "I want you to hunt a boar and this time, you'll kill it yourself like I would have." An insult and a challenge. Arya Stark was truly something else.

"Boar it is then." In light of Hodor's unsuccessful attempt at saddling her, he managed to brush her well. All Steffon needed to do was brush the saddle blanket and then she would be ready for the black leather saddle and her reins. Without a fight or a fuss, she allowed Arya to continuously pet her while he harnessed and saddled her. It may have been luck on his side that Arya stuck close or he would've had to bribe the mare with food just to keep her completely still.

Once finished, Steffon clutched the saddle horn and promptly mounted, both feet in the stirrups until he was upright and could take grasp of the reins. "Is my sister giving you a hard time, Steffon?" said Robb, already a-horse and making his way towards them in a steady gait.

"Not at all," Steffon replied as Arya looked at her brother with a frown. "Where's Jon Snow?" Robb and Arya shared a look with one another, but she's the first to look away. Steffon already gathered the reason without having them to explain.

"He said he's going to stay behind," Robb tried to put it lightly, possibly not wanting to call-out the glaring obvious of why Jon would rather stay in Winterfell than go to the wolfwoods. Whether or not Jon was a bastard, Steffon wasn't going to let his next course of action deter him.

"Lady Arya, tell Jon Snow that I command that he join us in the hunt. If he refuses, he'll deal with the consequences of disobeying a royal command." The Stark girl quickly grinned, knowing that he meant no malicious intent. After giving him a hurried nod, she sprinted off in the direction that Steffon could tell led to the godswood. Only Arya would know where her half-brother would go to brood.

Robb snickered, watching his sister run and squeeze through the crowd with ease. "He'll hate you for this." The Crown Prince knew Robb's assessment to be true. Jon certainly would have no kind words for him by forcing his hand on joining this hunt. If Steffon cared about who would get mad at him for helping them for their own good, he'd be a brooding mess himself. "There's something I want to ask."

Curious, Steffon gave Robb his full attention. "Hopefully this has nothing to do with my sis—" Before he could utter it, Robb gave him a look that answered his suspicions. "I would rather you keep me out of your relationship."

"It's nothing serious, I promise you. Even I don't have the confidence to confide in you about our marital life." Relieved, Steffon gave him a nod to continue with what he was going to ask. "Is it true that hunting a stag during a time of celebration is a sign of good fortune?"

"If you believe in tradition and superstitions then yes." Steffon could recall the time his father told him about the stags he hunted during the time they were born. He hardly believed that good fortune would follow maiming an animal, making a pelt out of it, and using its meat for venison-based foods. How is that supposed to signify any luck? If anything, it just meant the animal had the poorest luck of them all. "Why? Did my sister tell you about it?" he asked, already coming to the conclusion that she must have, otherwise how would Robb know about Baratheon traditions? Still, it had never hurt to ask.

"She did and I…" Clearing his throat, the Stark heir looked a little troubled. "I thought it would only be right if I have a cloak made out of its fur for her."

He knew his sister would be happy about a gift like that. "Since you're so set on it, I assure you that she'll be pleased."

Confident with his decision, Robb gave a stern nod before turning his head to see Arya was making her return with a sour-faced Jon Snow falling in step behind her. "I bet you ten copper pennies that he'll say that he's a bastard at least five times," Steffon offered the bet.

"How about twenty, and I bet he'll say it ten times," Robb challenged.

"You're on." With a smirk, Steffon prepared to hear the story of how it was wrong, for a bastard to be joining the hunt with a Royal Party.

* * *

 **A/N:** It was _not_ my intention to update so late, but this chapter was gonna be super long and so I decided to cut it in half.

I bet all of you are like "Who sent him that letter?" "Steffon knows Valyrian?" "What the heck is he up to?" c: This prince is quite sneaky. In some ways, he is very much a Lannister despite how much he doesn't like to acknowledge it. It just gives you all something to look forward to when the royal family is back into their nest of lies.

Also, does Jaime have to rightfully worry about Joffrey? Or should he be more concerned about himself?

Sparky She-Demon: I had read it and I hoped you would update! I hope you get over your writer's block soon. Ohhh, I can't say. That's a secret. c:

RandalNubs: I should probably put an M in the chapter names, just so you expect for some sex scene or gore. Lol. It'll never be random, I promise. I'm glad Steffon is relatable enough that you can you see yourself in him, though. I love hearing that. _#lovethat_

Wombat8: Ahhh, thank you. I assure you that Joanna grows, and there'll be more sides of her personality that come out in the North. She's very fierce about her family, and that'll come out very soon. Aunt Genna is basically my favorite female Lannister, and I wish she was on the show but I do understand that she doesn't play a very vital role for her to have any sort of appearance. Although, they could always have her see Cersei become queen. I doubt I would ever get that. But yes, she has taught Joanna plenty of things her advice will be very much apart of some of Joanna's choices. She's basically like a grandmother to her. I'm glad you think that. Ned and Cat are fun to right, especially Cat in regards to her good-daughter. Jon will disapprove most things concerning Steffon and Theon, and I proved that again this chapter. Lol. He's like that stiff brother you gotta drag by the hand to go out and live a little. It was hard because that was my first ever awkward "I don't love you and I could do without this but I'm attracted to you?" sex scene. I can't really imagine how these people survived arranged marriages because I would probably run away. Lmao. I'm a chicken. Most definitely, but although he was honest about it, he still stands by what he did half the time. So he's a regretful hypocrite... a lot. I hope you stick around to see what I'll do because I have so much planned.

WhatsGoinOn: Prepare for more awkwardness. On Joanna's side, of course.

Guest: Thank you! And I'm sorry I took so long to update. Lol. Don't hate me.

Pikapyon: I would bow, if it could be seen. I did my very best. Maybe this chapter proved she liked it, just a little. And don't worry. There's nothing to fear. c: Robb and Joanna will get over this awkward hill.

Otherworlder81: I'm eager for the day where love turn into, "I'm hurting from this so much"

The Mikaelson Cupcake: I see it's the fluff you want, but the fluff will only last for so long.

Rhyming With Oranges: I have snagged you into this story! Lol. I'm glad you love them and like this story. He will end up with someone. c: I can't say much though because his love life is going to be interesting. Sansa? That's a first. I know most people grow tired with OC!Baratheon x Sansa, but I know everyone wants Sansa happy and loved. She'll find love and happiness, but probably not with Steffon. I just want to give Robb a different kind of romance and I'm glad some people like that. I want it fun for a while because fun never lasts. Lmao. If you thought Aza was an adventure wait until you see the mess Joanna will go through. c:

The King in White: Top Tier? My goal is made.


	8. Asunder, Part Two

_**JOANNA**_

Both Emeline and Aleyth resembled Sansa and Jeyne with their whispering and incessant giggling. They even mimicked the way their hands would cover their mouths in such a dainty fashion. Why bother trying to uphold grace when your thoughts were ribalding? Isolde was much more frank. Her smirk was easily seen and purposely made to be seen despite the false attempt of hiding it behind her teacup. She posed for maturity but she was just the same as her two handmaidens.

All the while, Joanna fiddled with her teacup. Back and forth would she roll it along her palms, enjoying the smoothness of it as well as the comforting heat that emanated through it. "I don't see what the you three find to be so humorous," she mumbled indignantly. Normally she wouldn't have become so easily agitated, but their teasing came at her expense and that left her sour.

"We simply want to know about your wedding night," Aleyth explained, her voice trying to pertain some note of innocence. "Any person with seeing eyes can see how handsome your lord husband is."

"All we wonder is if he's in good in bed to match with how good as he looks," Isolde stated bluntly. She was always so willing to be matter-of-fact, and it often left Joanna reeling. It would leave her reeling because Joanna lacked that kind of forwardness; her Septa raised her to have tact and she supposed Steffon encouraged her naïveté about most things that involved intimacy.

Clearing her throat, Joanna began to mentally debate on what she should say. In all honesty, her wedding night was neither magical or sweet. In actuality, it was awkward and unromantic. Neither she nor Robb were comfortable with just about any of it. A true statement to a means to an end; nothing more and nothing less. "What do you want me to say?" she inquired. "We did not make love."

"Nobody is asking if the two of you made love, Joanna." Emeline rolled her eyes as she spoke, all the while placing her hands atop of her lap to fold them. "We're only asking if it was good."

 _No_ , Joanna thought honestly. It wasn't good, at least not in the way they were imagining. She did feel some pleasure, but the whole experience was a far cry from good. But would it be insulting to say that Robb did not please her? She would not speak ill of him, not even to her own friends despite the trust she had for them. If word were to get out that she felt negatively of their coupling, people would say terrible things about him. And what would he think of her? She would be some gossiping, insatiable woman and he would only be right to assume that. "We did what we had to do and that was that," Joanna made clear. That was simple enough, wasn't it?

Bringing her teacup to her lips for a long and soothing sip of tea, Joanna could practically feel their displeasure oozing out of them. They would receive no satisfaction from her and she meant to keep it that way. "The first time is never great," Isolde sighed, tapping her long, manicured nails against the side of the cup. "Perhaps Robb will try again tonight. After all, it'll be hard to stay asleep since the two of you will be sharing his bedchambers."

Her throat _rattled_.

That sip of tea she just swallowed had certainly made its way down the wrong pipe. Hunching over, ever so slightly as to not hit the table, she flexed her slender fingers around her teacup. Her lungs contracted and expanded, causing her to feel absolutely breathless. "I'll be s-sharing his bedchambers?!" Half-stuttering, half-shrieking… she couldn't define what it was she did. Why would she be sharing his chambers? He had his and so it is only right that she had her own. Her parents did not share a room or a bed, so why should her and Robb?

"It's different up here in the North, Joanna." Isolde seemed genuinely surprised that Joanna was unaware of this fact. "Lord and Lady Stark constantly share their bed. Look how fruitful their marriage is! Five healthy children."

So what? Her mother had five children of good health as well while having her own space! "My mother and father as well have five children," Joanna reminded her, "and all without sharing bedchambers."

 _And it is probably because they would've killed each other otherwise,_ she kept herself. Being in such an enclosed space together for so many hours in the day as well as the night? Her father's snoring and her mother light sleeping? Her mother's lack of affection towards him and her father's whoring along with his lack of respect for her? Most certainly a murder would've taken place. They didn't get along separately and together would be nothing short of disastrous.

"But are your parents in love?" Isolde asked, brow arched.

Unsure of what Isolde was implying, Joanna remained upset. "Being in close quarters with someone for several hours does not promise you'll grow to love them." She placed her cup down, a little harshly than she intended to. She lost her thirst after that revelation and her choking fit.

Completely missing the point, Emeline chimed in; "I don't see what's so bad about waking up next to _that_ man every morning." It wasn't Robb that made this situation difficult for her to adjust to, or more like wrap her mind around. It was about how she would have no personal space for the rest of her life. Surely there would be times they wished to be apart for long hours. Should she sleep in another room when he made her angry or sad? Should she constantly bathe with him waltzing around? Perhaps she was overreacting… Marriage is a union, isn't it? Nothing belongs just to her anymore. What is Robb's is hers and what is hers is Robb's; they shared, never coveted.

Memories of this morning resurfaced, filling her with a sense of warmth as she vividly thought of Robb's sleeping face. In some ways, it was relaxing to not wake up alone and her initial reaction was to touch him. She had not felt repulsed or was quick to distance herself from him despite their wedding night. It was confusing, her emotions over the matter. She knew not what to think or feel nor understood here she stood in the spectrum of happiness and sadness. "You were all smiles this morning!" Aleyth said while elbowing Emeline's side.

Joanna couldn't bother to say anything else lest she be teased some more. Instead, she had slid back her chair, gathered her skirts, and stood with her back straight and chin up. "I'm going to join the Stark girls and Myrcella in their stitching lessons. I feel they might be better company," teased Joanna, giving them a playful sneer.

Isolde soon placed her teacup on the little plate. "Have fun with your boring stitches. You're better at it than I am. I suppose I'll go find something fun to do since all the men are gone." Isolde had been having too much fun and it was worrisome. As of late, Theon Greyjoy seemed to be apart of her games and it nagged at Joanna. Theon was not good company yet her best friend liked to play and flirt with him despite his terrible reputation. Whether she was serious or not was becoming truly hard to decipher these days.

"We'll eat the rest of these little cakes and then clean up!" Aleyth grinned happily. She was always delighted when food was involved with her work. Joanna smiled at her genuine excitement before nodding, seeing nothing wrong with the two of them getting a break after they were bent forwards and backwards preparing so many things during her wedding day. She never got the chance to thank them, but she would not only thank them with words. She had surprises for both Emeline and Aleyth, and she hoped she would not disappoint.

The halls were quiet, which wasn't much of a surprise since all the men went hunting. But she did catch a sound, and the corners of her lips curved upward when she noted it was the pitter patter of small feet. Rickon Stark was running down the hallway, eyes looking every which way until they spotted her. He slowed down his running, looking a bit hesitant for a moment before a flash of courage shone in his bright, blue eyes. He made himself walk now, trying his best to look dignified before he stopped to stand in front of her. "Princess," he began but then frowned, brows furrowing. "Are you still a princess now that you're married to Robb?"

With a chuckle, she shook her head. "No, I'm no longer a princess. You can just call me Joanna from now on."

"How 'bout Jo?" His head slightly tilted, eyes flashing with curiosity of her reaction to the nickname.

Jo was such a rare nickname. Steffon used to say it often when they were children. Joffrey stopped affectionately calling her that and later used it as a means to tease her. He claimed she had the ugliest nickname out of them all, though Joanna never found fault with it. Names were names, or so she tried to convince herself. "If you want." He seemed delighted to know she accepted it, and she found his toothy smile a sweet sight.

"I was going to ask if you saw Bran," he said, suddenly remembering his objective. "I can't seem to find him or his wolf." He then eyed the floor around her skirts, possibly noticing Calla wasn't with her as well. "Where's your lion?"

"Steffon took her out for the hunt since Loreon is still sleeping." Calla had seemed so happy to go, much to Joanna's displeasure. She supposed it was only fair. Lionesses were natural hunters and since she was too small to hunt before, it was for the best that she strengthened her skills now. Joanna, however, just couldn't help but worry. Calla was still so young and just the smallest scratch would be enough to rile her. "But no, I haven't seen Bran. If I do, I'll let him know that you're looking for him."

Rickon pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly, disappointed yet accepting of her help. "I'm going to keep looking. Goodbye, Jo!" With a wave of his small hand, he sped off and she watched him from over her shoulder until she couldn't see his little figure anymore.

Searching for Bran did sound much more fun than stitching. Looking towards the windows, Joanna slowly approached them and wondered if she could spot him from here. There were few people walking about in the courtyard and none of them looked to be the young Stark boy. It wasn't until she thought to look towards the godswood that she saw something climbing up from the bottom of the castle's wall.

"He really does love to climb," she whispered to herself. "Will I distract him if go to him?" After a few moments of thought, she decided that Rickon's request should best be honored and began to make her way outside toward the adventurous boy of ten.

 ** _STEFFON_**

Steffon dismounted Shadow Runner, landing onto the dewy grass with a soft thud. There was so much movement, people setting up tables and readying weapons, keeping the hunt entirely organized. He could barely turn around before seeing Robb, who had an arm outstretched with his palm facing up. Right. How could he possibly forget? He lost their bet. "I believe I've won," Robb reminded with pride sewn to his voice. He was awaiting for the copper pennies he rightly earned. The Crown Prince let out a reluctant sigh before digging into the saddlebag to pay him. "I would know my brother better than you do, Steffon." And just like that, Steffon dropped the copper pennies into his hand in disappointment. Twenty pennies of copper was nothing, but it still felt awful to lose.

Throughout the whole way here, Jon kept complaining of how wrong it was for him to go hunting with them. It didn't matter what Steffon nor Robb said, he felt as if he was breaking some sort of law because of his bastardly status. He couldn't really fault him, though. Steffon knew nothing about how life was growing up a bastard through their eyes. All his life he was catered to, waited on hand and foot, and loved. He never did without or was looked down upon. He could only understand what he saw and seeing was different than receiving.

"I won't lose the next bet," and that was a promise. Steffon always prepared himself for the next challenge, striving to win twice as hard if he lost before.

"You won the spar and I the bet." Robb looked down at the pouch of coins with interest. "I'd say we're even."

"Fair enough." He doubted Robb had truly gotten over that spar. Steffon certainly wouldn't have.

The Crown Prince took it upon himself to personally retrieve his weapon. After seeing the display of weaponry, Steffon instantly chose a bow. He couldn't stop himself from admiring how this particular one was crafted of flexible and slender wood that could only be found in the North. It was of nice weight and he could sling it with ease over his shoulder. Settling for it, he took a quiver of arrows. "What kind of wood is—" Steffon didn't finish the sentence, having noticed Robb was surveying the gathered hunting party with a frown. His eyes then came to rest in the direction of the King, who had let out a booming laugh at something Lord Stark had said.

"We seem to be missing someone. Where's the King's personal guard?" he asked and immediately Steffon knew he spoke of Jaime. Jaime and Ser Barristan were usually if not always at his father side.

Steffon had noted his uncle's absence long before they left Winterfell. He briefly wondered what Jaime could possibly be doing to forgo the opportunity to kill something. "Hmm, it is unusual that my uncle isn't present. Then again perhaps he just wants time away from guarding my father. They don't very much like to be around each other longer than what's necessary."

Robb slowly nodded, coming to understand and possibly having already noticed that his uncle and father hardly said a word to each other. "You'll be needing someone to guide you through the wolfswood. It's easy to get lost in them." Steffon figured as much and although he would rather go off on his own, it would be too much of a risk.

He looked around, searching for that sullen face that nagged them since they left Winterfell. "Snow," Steffon called out his name, causing him to look away from the spear and the bow and arrow he was deciding between. "You know this place more than me. Your brother thinks I'll get lost if I don't have one of you Northerners showing me the way."

"He's right," answered Jon. "There's more to this forest than boars and stags. Wildlings appear more oft than not as well."

Steffon hadn't considered that. He heard some Wildlings managed to get their way past the Wall, but this far enough to the wolfswood? Curious as well as cautious, he wondered if there were any out there now and if he would get the chance to encounter one. What made those men and women so barbaric that they had to stay on the other side of the Wall? "Then choose your weapon and let's go. There's a boar your little sister is waiting for."

After a solid minute, Jon trekked up to meet him with a spear in his hand after calling Ghost to follow. He led the way as Steffon fell in step, Calla having already trotted her way to his side without him commanding her to. He supposed Joanna didn't spoil her too much if she knew when to follow and when not to. Loreon came and went as he wished, and perhaps his method of letting the lion be a lion was begrudgingly backfiring.

Steffon kept to silence, letting their footfalls be the only sound along with the susurration of leaves in the cold yet gusty wind. He never hunted in such an enclosed space before. The South had more open areas, easier for you to see the animal and not have to worry about the terrain working against you. But here? Trees, unsteady earth, rocks, and rivers could be your downfall.

"You've taken a liking to Arya," Jon spoke first, much to Steffon's surprise. He hoped this conversation wasn't as serious as he was suspecting it to be. Surely Jon wouldn't assume Steffon had taken to a child romantically.

"She reminds me of my older sister, Mya. The two of them are cut from the same cloth, except yours is trueborn." Jon already knew that Mya was a bastard. There was no real reason to say it otherwise. "She doesn't wear dresses. She's only ever seen in chain and leather. She can swing a sword better than most men I know and she knows the mountains of the Vale like the back of her hand."

"She sounds like someone Arya would like." It wasn't much of a surprise that Jon knew his sister so well. Arya had made it clear that it was Jon Snow she was closest to without so much as saying it.

Pushing aside a bush, Steffon kept his eyes scouring the area for any signs of wildlife. "I think she has the potential to be something great. It's a shame when people squander their skills." Jon turned his head to look at him, eyes full of question. "I hear you want to join the Night's Watch, and it makes me wonder who dropped you on your bloody head to make that foolish choice."

Snow's lips thinned before fully curving downward. He continued to look ahead, revealing he hadn't much cared for the choice of words. "No one made this decision for me. I made it."

"And why is that? You get shit clothes, shit weapons, shit food, shit duties, and you bloody well can never look nor touch a woman again." He had hoped someone lied to Jon about the Night's Watch. If he actually chose it out of his own volition, it had to be because he didn't know how terrible it was. It just had to be. Steffon simply couldn't fathom that Jon would willingly walk into Castle Black knowing what everyone else with good sense seemed to know. "Most men would rather have their hand cut off than be sent to the Wall, but you're so willing?"

Jon stopped walking, hand tightening around the body of the spear to show his frustration. Nonplussed by the action, Steffon halted his steps as well. "I can make something of myself there while being a Snow. There's nothing for me in Winterfell."

It never did cross Steffon's mind about how intimidating it could be to have Robb as an older brother. He had everything. Everything a bastard could ever want, that is. The dawning of this realization made Steffon's tongue heavy and his shoulders curve with guilt. He had been so stuck on his own perspective of things that he completely ignored the bigger picture around him.

"You could make a name for yourself as a knight," suggested Steffon. Jon's eyes had widened a fraction as the Crown Prince raised the left corner of his mouth. "If you want, you could be my squire and climb your way into being in my kingsguard. Plenty of bastards have been knights… You wouldn't be the first."

He was given silence and he supposed it was because Jon was thinking on it. It was a heavy proposal, something that just wasn't handed out to any and everyone. For when the day arrived when Steffon becomes king, he was going to clean shop of those he surrounded himself with. His mother would have no control and those who would stand by while he did wrong were not wanted. His uncle still felt guilt over the actions he was stopped from taking and he could not let another man watch chaos and tyranny ensue because of foolish, old rules. Of course, Steffon never believed himself capable of that, but… Power, he realized, changes people and not always in a good way. He was also susceptible to it, no matter how sure he was of himself. Look at what it did to his father; power made the man overweight, miserable, and a king who doesn't actually rule the realm. It was the Hand and the small council that did all the ruling.

"You don't have to give me an answer now," Steffon clarified to ease the tension. "Think on it is all I'm asking."

Jon's nod was slow but sharp, indicating that his words hadn't fell on deaf ears. The both of them froze at the sudden sound of rustling bushes before looking at one another knowingly. An animal was close, or so they assumed. Because they couldn't pin the exact location of the sound, Jon went left and Steffon had went right. Calla moved ahead him, and he doubted it was out of protection. She was probably more interested in what was there than he could ever be.

Taking an arrow from his quiver, Steffon slid it into place but only drew it back enough to prepare and not at full draw. He was sure he went into the right direction, for the sounds grew more frequent and louder with each step. Was it an elk? A rabbit or maybe a wolf itself? His heart was racing, but all excitement left him when he heard:

"Prince Steffon, look out!"

 ** _JOANNA_**

Pastel yellow was a poor choice if she meant to spend any of her time outside. It was too late to change and she was already set on going forward. The dress would just have to suffer, unfortunately. After all, any snags and grass-stains could be washed, cut, and re-sewn. She also had plenty of dresses, who would care if this one had been thrown away? Besides, she was sure no one would care… Well, except her mother, maybe. She could deal with her mother's scowl and lectures since it would be the last time she would ever see and hear them again. Her mother only said those harsh things to correct her, she reasoned. Joanna had to find a way to learn to love the fear that her mother instilled.

But enough of that, she had to focus on Brandon. He moved too quickly, having reached the top of the castle wall and made his way over to what she learned not too long ago to be the Broken Tower. He truly was good at climbing things other than trees and Joanna doubted she could ever recall seeing anyone better. In her line of vision was his direwolf, who he had not yet gave a name to yet. A chorus of whines left him, almost as if he had been worried about how far up Bran was. Joanna planned to soothe the wolf with a petting until her feet suddenly found themselves unable to move. She glanced back up to see that Bran had stayed at the tower's window, almost as if he was speaking with someone. A silhouette of a person could scarcely be seen and it made Joanna awfully curious as to who could possibly be in such an abandoned place.

All curiosity had died however when an arm stretched itself forward and pushed Bran squarely on the chest.

Her breath left her, eyes going as wide as they possibly could go. Joanna immediately ran, or more like sprinted, bunching up her skirts to the point her calves for their entirety were shown. She was going as fast as her long legs could carry her, riveting herself with the hope that she could reach the boy in time to catch him. She had been wrong, painstakingly wrong. Before she could close the gap between her and where Bran would land, his little body hit the ground with a sound that made her heart shatter.

"Bran…" His name left her lips in a faint whimper, legs feeling incapable of standing. She fell to her knees, providing her no choice but to crawl toward him now because her body was struck with fright. Joanna wanted to grab him, lift him, and hold him close. But her arms were trembling and she quickly surmised that touching or moving him might do more harm than good. "Bran!" she screamed his name this time, praying and hoping he'd open his eyes or give her any sort of indication that he was still alive.

This was a living nightmare.

"Help! Someone, please!" Her heart couldn't find it in her to move and leave him, but if she stayed at his side, she ran the risk of no one being able to hear her.

"Hodor?" Joanna jumped liked a startled cat. Her head quickly whipped left to see the small giant of a man. He may have not been the first person to come to mind, but he was better than no one at all. "Hodor!" Upon seeing Bran, he hurried over and his large hands dropped the wooden bucket he carried. Slow of wits they said for him to be and yet he knew something was wrong right away.

Should she make Hodor carry him and they make their way to the Maester or should she have Hodor watch over him while she hurried to Maester Luwin? Bran's body was so fragile and she did not want to make his condition worse without the Maester's eyes watching. Could it be any worse, though? His legs… Seven, she couldn't look at them without wanting to burst into tears. "Hodor, please watch over Bran for me. I must… I must go get Maester Luwin but do not touch him, understand? Allow no one to lay a hand on him."

It wasn't really clear if he understood all that she said or not. It would seem he understood the gist of it since he bestowed her a hurried nod. Regaining strength in her legs, Joanna ran back to Winterfell with her thoughts consumed with the fear that Bran's life was in her hands.

 ** _STEFFON_**

Quickly, he rolled to the ground and remained crouching, completely dodging the apparent danger. It was only Calla, who leaped over him and rolled to the ground, still fighting a vixen she managed to trap in her mouth. Steffon eyes widened as he gathered himself to stand as the lioness applied heavy pressure, snapping the neck of the fox with ease. The predatory gleam in her green eyes dispersed before she looked up at him, affection now clouding them. Like a cat, she trotted towards him and placed the kill at his feet like some sort of present. Steffon's stammering heart had finally slowed to a steady calm and he felt like he could breathe again.

"She's a quick one," Jon commented as he squatted, inspecting the dead fox up close with mild amusement. "The fox must've been the noise we heard."

"You had me thinking an arrow had gone astray," sighed Steffon. Bending his knees, he outstretched his arm and glided his hand in a smooth stroke from the top to the back of the lion's head. She purred heavily when he gave a gentle scratch, having enjoyed that more for she began to nuzzle his palm. "You did well, Calla."

"Where did you get them? The lions, I mean." Arya and Jon even spoke alike, always clarifying what it was they were trying to say. Steffon then stood straight to watch the lion, who already planned her next move yet decided to usher Ghost to follow her. The young direwolf seemed hesitant at first, almost as if he sought Jon's approval before anything else. Jon merely gave him a smile and a nod of his head and the two were gone, running lightning fast.

Slipping the arrow back into the quiver, Steffon re-slung his bow over his shoulder. "My grandfather gave them to Joanna and I for our nameday. I heard you found your wolves in these woods, is it so?"

Jon nodded to confirm it before they followed after the direwolf and lioness. "It was strange, though." Steffon glanced over at him, curious as to what Jon was trying to say. "Their mother was wounded, bleeding, and surely near death and she let us take her pups without a fight."

She had not tried to fight them at all? That was unusual. Steffon couldn't claim to be an expert on animals, but surely anyone would find that odd. No female wolf would let her pups go to strange creatures without fierce resistance.

He couldn't pondered on it more after seeing lioness and direwolf inspecting something, and sniffing loudly as they did so. Steffon and Jon glanced at each other in confusion before rounding up towards the animals to see there was a raven, lying flat on its back with its legs twisted and wings spread wide. It looked as if it fell to its death but how when it could fly? A sense of dread came over the Crown Prince at that moment and he wasn't sure why.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Joanna stared sightless at a small corner of the room, feeling entirely numb. Lady Stark's sad wails was all that could be heard and Joanna could not find the heart to offer her comfort. She knew not what to say or do, she was not a mother. There was no sense of complete understanding that she knew of that was a mother's grief from being helpless to her child in pain. All she could do was try her best in providing comfort to Sansa and Arya, who too were shedding tears. Arya was silent but Sansa was of trembling shoulders and small whimpers. Rickon was in her arms, face buried in the crook of her neck as her hand gently rubbed his little back.

"They've returned," said a servant. "Lord Stark and the King have returned from the hunt, My Lady." Catelyn finally tore her weeping eyes away from her son to look at the young woman. "We'll have him know about Lord Brandon right away."

Joanna held Rickon tighter, desperately wanting to run outside in the seek of the solace she would surely find in Steffon's arms. She wanted to cry, to tell him she saw Bran pushed, to tell him how she wasn't fast enough to catch him. Her brother was the only one who could comfort her. Joanna could not imagine anyone else being able to do the same.

She kept her lips sealed, wanting Lord Stark to be here when she told him that Bran's fall was not accidental. Someone had purposely harmed a boy of ten without care. Joanna hoped they would be found and be brought to justice… If it were not too late, that is. Her mind simply couldn't wrap around on who it could possibly be. Did someone disguise themselves as one of the people here or… she swallowed hard, her mouth immediately becoming dry. Was it someone she knew? No, it couldn't be. Nobody she knew would go to the Broken Tower nor let alone lay harm to innocent Bran. Joffrey, for all his twistedness, wasn't that foolish as well was not here. Mostly everyone was not present and so it must've been an outsider, perhaps a hired sellsword.

There were hurried steps coming down the halls by the many, alerting her that Lord Stark and the others were close. She walked to the nearest corner, furthering herself from the door that quickly flew open. Lord Stark rushed in, panting and eyes searching around the room in panic before resting on his comatose son. The shock on his face was overpowered by solemness; he hides his emotions very well, Joanna saw that for herself. He moved swiftly to his wife, who immediately clung onto him and fell completely apart in his arms. Robb and Jon followed into the chambers, equally devastated and lost.

She almost felt too ashamed to be here, to even so much as look at Robb. How would he feel upon knowing that she could've saved his brother and failed? Would he resent her? Part of her thought he would. "Luwin," the heavy voice of Lord Stark called the Maester. It was obvious what he wanted to know and Joanna felt afraid to hear it all again.

"He's alive. As for how long? Only the gods know for certain, My Lord. If he is to ever wake, he will never walk again." Her eyes squeezed shut. She didn't want to see the pain on her good-father's face of the news, and she didn't want to see it on Robb's or Jon's either. Rickon's light breathing, an indicator he cried himself to sleep, was all she paid attention to because she could not bear the sorrow that cloaked over them.

"Pardon me, I'll be taking Rickon to bed." Lord Stark looked at her before giving a stern nod. Maester Luwin bowed his head, having agreed with her decision quietly. She did not look at anyone else, still avoiding as much eye contact as she could before slipping out of the room. Joanna discovered that she must've been holding her breath because once she was outside in the hall, she could breathe again. Her heart was quickening while it ached and her breaths came in uneven pants.

What was she doing? She should've asked a word for Lord Stark to tell him that his son was purposely harmed. How could she? His wife needed him. His son lied before him possibly cradled by the arms of the Stranger. It seemed like such a rush and Joanna did not want to come off as less than respectful. In the sea of her worry, a hand pressed itself gingerly to the small of her back, causing her to clutch Rickon tightly as she jumped. She soon calmed when she saw it had been Robb, who came to stand before her.

"Are you alright?" His concern was… surprising. She hadn't expected it. Why would he care if she was alright when it was his brother who laid sleep, broken and— "It was said that you saw Bran fall and had Hodor watch over him so you could retrieve Maester Luwin." Joanna rooted her jaw, green eyes still swirling with curiosity over his care for her feelings when it was Bran that mattered more. "It… It must've been difficult to see that." Difficult was putting it gently, but she understood that he was doing his best not to make her remember it so vividly.

"I need…" Joanna tried to find her voice, not quite sure why it was coming out so faint and tiny. "I need to take Rickon to his bed."

Robb nodded. "I'll walk you." She knew not how to feel about him currently but she kept silent. If that's what Robb wanted to do then who was she to deny him? Honestly, she wanted to leave. Just being next to him was making her feel insurmountably guilty. All Joanna wanted to do was to lay Rickon to bed and sink herself into Steffon's arms and cry.

Their walk was silent and short. Rickon's room was tucked at the end of the hall, a safe place for a young one in case of a raid. He'd be the last to be harmed and possibly already to safety. His room was surprisingly tidy, unexpected for a child, but Joanna supposed the servants cleaned it for the day before Joanna could see what kind of messes he makes regularly. Sitting at the edge of the featherbed, she pulled back the furs before laying him down on the sheet and making sure his head was on the pillow. She tucked him in the same manner she used to tuck in Tommen except this time she moved much more robotically, almost as if her body was working on its own without her steering.

Unlike with Tommen, Joanna did not chastely kiss the boy's forehead. Instead, she carefully brushed some of his hair from out of his face before lifting herself to her feet and heading out the door where Robb waited in the hall.

"Robb," she mumbled, watching as he quietly shut Rickon's door. "I…" Not having the confidence to look up at him, she eyed her fiddling fingers. "I am so sorry for what happened to Bran. I'm sorry that I was not quick enough to catch him," whimpered Joanna. "To _save_ him." Silent tears fell, trailing down her cheeks and the long column of her neck.

Her body slightly jolted when she felt Robb's hands rest on her shoulders. She could not comprehend anything, at least not until she felt herself pressed close to the wall that was his chest. All distance that once stood between them eradicated. He was holding her, she started to realize. But why? Shouldn't _she_ be the one comforting him? Bran was his brother, his little brother, and all of this surely was hurting him. Yet, here she was crying and apologizing, and it seemed as if she was making this about herself when she genuinely felt sorry for not doing enough. For not doing what she felt herself capable of doing. Despite it all, Robb was comforting her as if she needs it more than he does…

Joanna allowed her body to sag and nestled herself into the tight embrace. He was warm and smelled of the forest. In one inhale, she smelled the entirety of the wolfswood, but there was still a little scent that was Robb's own that she briefly caught wind of earlier and the night before. His embrace was a lot different from Steffon's and yet she felt shielded all the same. "What happened to Bran isn't your fault," he finally spoke after having lapsed into silence. "I'm more than grateful that you tried to save him. From the height he fell, you wouldn't have caught him without injuring yourself."

Perhaps he was right. What good would she have been with broken arms? Only the Seven knows how things would've turned out if she had been fast enough. "Bran has never fallen before… But there is a first time for everything." Scarcely could he convince himself of that than he could convince her. Perhaps some part of him was convinced that Bran had just been unlucky today. He was wrong, but Joanna feared how things might turn out if she had told him the truth and not Lord Stark first.

"Robb," Joanna inched herself away from him, still unsure if she was doing the right thing by telling him first. The Seven would say she had a duty to him as his wife and she was not sure how marriage worked with the Old Gods yet she was sure the same rules applied. She drew her lips in to briefly lick them, suddenly feeling frightened by telling him what he deserved to know. "Bran…"

The door to Brandon's chambers had opened and out walked Lord Stark, looking entirely drained and haggard. All his energy was spent during the hunt and now all his emotions were all over the place with what happened to his son. Seeing him as a mess of a man before he became that stony paramount of the North was all she needed. Her hand looked for Robb's and once she found it, she pulled him forward as she made her way over towards his father. "Good-father!" she called out to Eddard, gaining his attention.

"Joanna," he said as he turned to face her. "I want to thank you for helping Bran. If you had not been there when he fell—" It was rude to interrupt him. Never would she in good conscious do so if she did not fear something might ruin this opportunity.

"Bran's fall was not an accident," she immediately blurted out. "He did not slip, he did not fall… He was _pushed._ "

Eddard's eyes only widened for a fraction in a split second before he thinned them. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, his body slightly leaning towards her in efforts to keep their words between them. "He was pushed?" he questioned. "Joanna, are you sure about this?"

"Y-Yes," she stammered, feeling some strange weight settle into her chest. Joanna was sure, saw it for her own eyes, but something was telling her that if she confirmed this, she could never take it back. "I saw an arm but I could not see the person who had done it. He was pushed, of that I know."

Robb… She had almost forgotten that she was clutching his hand until she felt his hold on her tighten. He didn't mean to put so much strength into his grip, she knew, for he must've been hurt as well as surprised that someone purposely harmed his brother. "What are we going to do, Father? This isn't an accident. This is _murder._ "

Murder. Joanna's body tensed upon the word. That push had a purpose and it was to kill, to kill a little boy. Lord Stark had kept his eyes on her before flickering to look at his son. He then raised his head and searched the hall, possibly to make sure that they weren't being watched. Joanna hadn't even thought that someone may have been listening. She had been too set on doing the right thing that she hadn't thought someone might have known that she was there. What if they had seen her? What if they had known that she knew? Would they come after her next? Fear began to bubble under her skin and spread throughout her body, her free hand came to rest atop of her chest as she felt suddenly paranoid and unsafe.

"We will speak no more of this," Ned explained to them. "We act as if we know nothing and keep this between us. I will do some searching and while I do, you must keep a watchful eye on Joanna, Robb. If she has seen someone push Bran then it is likely they've seen her, too."

 ** _CERSEI_**

Steffon had stopped eating breakfast and dinner with them when he was four-and-ten.

Back when she had been adamant about him spending time with his family, she would make the servants fetch him. It was only when the servants were too defeated to plead to him once more, Cersei sought him herself. She would find him in the library, face buried to the nose in a large book or tome, fork narrowly missing his mouth because he was too absorbed in what he was reading. Steffon had always been well-read, overwhelmingly eager to learn, just like her imp brother. It used to worry her at times that he would be hard to handle, thinking himself too clever for aged advice.

It hadn't taken long for her to know that he purposed chose the library. He purposely chose to read than eat at the same table. The argument that made him never come around was when he heard of her warning about Robert's eldest bastard. Steffon hadn't even known the Stone girl then, but he was furious to know that her life had been apparently threatened. Her oldest boy, so fiercely loyal to family, had been so ashamed of her that he ran from her.

But he's here now, and it eases her. Cersei needed the easiness that came with watching him sink his teeth into his toasted bread. He still spreads the preserves so messily like he used to; some of it is about to drip off the corners of the bread, driving her up the wall as well as giving her warmth from the familiarity. It was all in good distraction so that she does not think of the little wolf boy that caught her with Jaime. He'd be better off dead and she had been awaiting the news of it.

Tyrion, she thought bitterly as her eyes caught him making his way towards their table. Cersei almost believed she had the perfect meal table, all she loved was here except for Joffrey and Joanna. Joffrey had eaten his breakfast in his chambers and was eager to be outside while Joanna, apparently, had wanted to spend her morning with Lady Stark because of her tender heart. "Bread," her little and irritating brother had told a servant. "And two of those little fish and a mug of dark beer to wash it down. And bacon, burnt black."

"Little brother," Jaime sounded delighted as he always did when this abomination was around. How Jaime held loved for Tyrion was leagues beyond her comprehension.

" _Beloved_ siblings," Tyrion replied, and Cersei noted the sarcasm.

Myrcella, who had been quiet as a mouse, suddenly decided to speak; "Is Bran going to die?" she asked, her sweet voice laced with concern. Her daughters and their tender hearts, how the world would so quickly want to break them.

"Apparently not," answered Tyrion.

Cersei's bones felt as if they had stiffened as hard as ice. Her body didn't want to move and it was so difficult for her to not wear her shock on her face. She even hated herself that she shared a look with Jaime; a shared look of panic to be precise. "What do you mean?" she questioned, trying to remain unbothered. Unworried.

"The Maester says the boy may live." He did not need to live. He could not live after seeing her and Jaime. If he ran his little mouth of his, Cersei and Jaime would have their heads cut clean off their shoulders and put on spikes. Thank the Seven her children would be spared, but her? There'd be no mercy for her from Robert.

"It's no mercy, letting a child linger in such pain." For certain had it been her own child, Cersei would not let them suffer. They would be too weak to survive this world as a crippled and she would rather them dead than defenseless and able to be someone's pawn.

Steffon, she noticed, had then suddenly put down his cup of wine and turned to look at them. He had been solemn all breakfast and it was now he decided to no longer keep to silence. "How can anyone decide what is better for someone?" he questioned, or more so interrogated if Cersei hadn't caught the hint of annoyance in his tone. "What about Bran? What if he wants to live? He must have the will to live if he hasn't succumb to death yet. Who is one to say what is a mercy to him or not other than him?"

"Steffon, I was merely saying—"

"That he should die," he interrupted her and had no qualms about it. Cersei's jaw clenched tight, wondering what spurred him on to speak to her in such a way. "That isn't right nor is it fair."

"Most if not all of life is neither right or fair, Steff." Jaime had decided to intervene. "Even if the boy lives, he'll be a cripple, a grotesque. Give me a good clean death any day."

"He's a _child_ ," Steffon stressed. "And there are cripples who are living their lives to the fullest every day. Should Willas Tyrell have killed himself? Should Uncle Tyrion have died for being born as he is? No. Life gives challenges and many of them are unfair to most, but that does not mean one should give up."

Her boy, apparently so passionate about life, had seemed entirely disgusted with her and Jaime then. Her heart nearly ached at the way he was looking at them now, as if they were some sort of pair of horrendous monsters. If he had known the truth, Cersei was sure he really would think that way of them.

"I agree as a grotesque myself," said Tyrion. "Death is so final, whereas life... Life is full of possibilities. I hope the boy does wake. I'd be very interested to hear what he has to say."

"As would I," Steffon agreed before quickly gathering himself to his feet, seemingly done with his breakfast but most of all them. Her eyes watched her son leave the Great Hall, moving with a purpose.

What he was up to, Cersei could only be curious about. He was always up to something.

 _ **STEFFON**_

"Forgive me, Lord and Lady Stark, for I am without words. Nothing I can say will suffice for the pain you must endure." After that terrible breakfast, all he could think to do was to give his condolences for what happened to Brandon. If such a terrible accident happened to him or his siblings, he would want nothing but an outpour of sympathy than some terrible advice of slipping a child into a merciful death. Perhaps because his mother had children herself that she would not wish the suffering on any parent of knowing their child could not do nor have as most children. Steffon, however, just couldn't understand the thought of wishing for death when there was a sliver of a chance to live and find a new purpose. Of course, he still had the usage of his legs unlike Bran. Maybe he was just being selfish with his thoughts.

"That you care so much to see him and give us your condolences is more than enough, Prince Steffon." Was it enough? Was there a chance that he could do more? Words could hardly be enough. It was already painful watching the couple sit by their child's bedside in what looked to be complete despair. Tragedy bounds a family, doesn't it? So what does it do to a family already bound besides crush them more?

"Prince Doran of Dorne has a chair that helps him get around. I'd like to think that when Bran wakes, he should have the same." Lady Stark looked up at him, and for a moment Steffon thought he saw a hint of hope in her eyes. Steffon would not count Bran out yet. He will wake because they believed it, no matter what others or even what the gods had to say. "I would also like to help in the construction of such chair, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, My Prince." Lord Stark was a man who masked his face well, but right now his expression was warm and full of gratitude. "I am honored you would even take it upon yourself to help."

"I am an older brother of four siblings," Steffon began, "and I love each and every one of them. If something were to have happened to them like what happened to Bran, I would only wish for support. Bran was going to be a knight and I had been looking forward to seeing the day after watching him spar. Seeing as that will not happen anymore, I want to see where life takes him from here on."

Catelyn's sob had wounded his heart, leading him to believe he may have said the wrong thing. It might've not been wise to speak of Bran's broken dream while he laid there in the same fragments. Locking his jaw, Steffon looked down at his feet, wanting to kick himself for not thinking too carefully on his words.

"Thank you," whispered Lady Stark. His head lifted immediately as he met her teary eyes. "Thank you for still seeing a future for my son."

* * *

 **A/N:** I am so sorry it took me so long to update, but here it is! I hope you noticed those big-little changes because they're practically me hinting at some change of events.

And finally Bran gets a wheel chair this season! I kept wondering why he was never made one when Doran had one. It made no sense to have Hodor carrying him all the time... Although the books did better with having something strapped on Hodor to carry Bran but it was said to be sometimes painful for him. But finally!

The Mikaelson Cupcake: At least the pain and suffering renews more fluff, even if it takes a while.

Wombat8: Sometimes I like to write dramatically for Steffon and a hangover is a dramatic experience, so I had to go all out. Lol. I know you'll love to see how they'll act in later events because both Calla and Loreon are going to steal the spotlight... _a lot_. Robb has a handsome face, it needs to be adored for all its perfection. In any given situation, who would not be Joanna in the morning to take up to that! Arya and Steffon are fun to write, too! She needs someone that sees her for her now that Jon won't be there. There's going to be more of that because right now you're seeing a stag in unknown land, so when he's in his territory, he's a completely different person. He's a lot like Robert and Cersei, but there's a hint of Tyrion, Jaime, Renly and Stannis in him. They've all have shaped him in such a way because this boy is a true definition of a family man. I hardly see people give love to horses that bite! Not all horses are nice and affectionate, and the ones that are a bit mean deserve some appreciation. I love torturing Jon, and... that sounds wrong of me but I do, basically because he's my favorite. I always hurt the ones I love the most. I've become so knee-deep in religion in got/asoiaf that I had to have at least one moment of Cat and Jo bonding over it. I mean Catelyn is pious as hell and I would expect to see her bonding with someone with her faith but I hardly ever get that. I always give what I am deprived of, I noticed. Oh, the strain. That strain will come indeed. Did you know that I loved writing that line when I put that in there, I patted myself on the back? "Did I do that? I definitely did that" is what I told myself. There will be more tid-bits of Robert with his children because most in-canon bits are just sad and terrible, and there just had to be good times... There had to be. I can't wait to write Genna. As you can see, she's likely going to make an appearance when certain people go to the Twins because I cannot just leave her out of this. I refuse. A happy ending? Am I capable of that? What if I suddenly change this story to a tragedy, will I be vilified? Lol. Don't take me seriously. Never apologize! I love your reviews. Seeing everything you enjoyed makes me giddy and inspires me to do my best!


	9. A Chain of Events

**_ROBB_**

The days after Bran's fall had brought about a change that none of them were prepared for. The halls were now quiet, roomy, and eerie as if someone was to be mourned. Though his little brother remained alive, none would believe so if they saw how each member of this family was dealing with it. His own father was much more reserved than the norm and his mother? No one hardly saw her for she never left Bran's bedside. Arya, spunky as she is, was now quiet and Sansa's excitement about going south became muted. Rickon demanded more attention, asking a thousand and one questions of why Bran was the way he was with no one having the heart to answer. Jon and himself tried to behave as they usually did, believing that it was better to be the pillars of this family, but they were wounded just as anyone else. And where was his wife in the midst of all this? Leaving him to wonder if he was married to a ghost.

They haven't spent a single time alone since the morning after their wedding. The reason, from what he discovered, was because Joanna made it her duty to mend this family of her own volition. She tended to Rickon the most, distracting him with games with the help of Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. She either stitched or had tea and lemon cakes with Sansa and Jeyne Poole along with Lady Isolde. With Arya, she told her stories of Baratheons and Targaryens; Robb caught her right in the middle of telling the story of Orys Baratheon and Argella Durrandon with enthusiasm. He even found her speaking alone to Jon, promising to write him letters for she hated the idea of the two becoming strangers while he went to the Wall. Then lastly, she spent hours with his mother at Bran's side in silence. Just about everyone had their time with her except him, her own husband.

While miffed about the lack of attention, Robb still enjoyed watching her care for everyone in ways she thought best for them at this time. He followed her around for what would almost be a fortnight after lessons with his father of how to run Winterfell while he was gone. Robb did rather well of not alerting her of his presence at all. It started off as concern for her safety, unable to forget his father's warning about her life possibly being in danger. They couldn't actively have guards following her around or else they would rouse suspicion, but his worries quickly shifted into genuine curiosity. Within each morning, afternoon, and evening as he cloaked himself in shadows or alcoves, Robb wondered when he would catch the day that she decided that she would focus on him.

But how long would he have to wait? Robb never had much patience and to prove that fact, he went around searching for Joanna now. The first place he went to was Rickon's chambers, just to find it was empty. It led him to believe that wherever his baby brother was, Joanna was likely with him. The second place he searched was Bran's chambers, but only his mother and father were there, draped with a blanket of fur as they slept next to one another. The last place Robb could think to look was Sansa and Arya's chambers and that's exactly where he found her. His sisters laid horizontally on their bed, likely positioning themselves best to listen to whatever story Joanna entertained them with this time. Meanwhile, Joanna was sitting in a chair, Rickon in her lap and his head on her shoulder as the both of them slept. Her lion laid by the hearth, taken to the warmth of the fire as she slept.

Robb had made sure to keep his steps soundless as he picked up Rickon and laid him on Sansa and Arya's bed. It would've been too much work to carry him all the way back into his room, though Robb hoped that Arya wouldn't roll on top of him in the middle of the night. At times she slept wildly, his baby sister, and her dreams either made her talk or roll around until Sansa woke up to fuss about it. Keeping all his movements muted, he eased his left arm under Joanna's upper back and his right underneath her knees and lifted her, cradling her in his arms. She moaned softly and snuggled against him, her breath tickling his neck.

"Robb?" whispered Joanna, suddenly becoming aware. He hoped she wouldn't wake at all, but it seemed as though she was a rather light sleeper.

"Sleep." Although the order was soft, Robb said it rather gruffly.

He was given a hum, a wordless agreement. She was so tired that she couldn't bother to strike an argument with him, if she really wanted to, that is. Could she even argue? Robb had never seen her show anything next to anger since the first time he met her. Was she ruthless to prove her point? What harsh expressions could she summon? Was she hot or was she cold in the thick of her ire? Robb wanted to know. There was so much to learn about his gentle wife. She could not be gentle nor kind all the time. Most men wanted a pretty and agreeable wife, didn't they? Joanna, thus far, had fit the ideal wife perfectly and yet he hoped for more… _for flaws_. For something to dislike, for something to change, and it left him wondering if he was mad in the head or Joanna found no comfort to truly be herself around him. Maybe he was hoping for too much when the marriage was still in its early stages. After all, he had an entire lifetime to learn everything about her.

The walk was not long and the halls were empty and quiet. He could only hear the sound of her light breathing and the sound of his feet meeting the floor. Thank the gods he left the door to his— _theirs_ , he had to remind himself—chambers or else he'd might've had woken her from trying to keep her steady in his arms while simultaneously opening the door. Grey Wind greeted him as he walked in, having circled around him with curiosity until he was sated enough to go back to his usual spot.

Robb carefully laid Joanna on the bed, tucking her legs under the furs. It's almost immediate, the way she makes her limbs asprawl. Her hair soon becoming a wild golden tangle of a halo against the stark white pillow. Just the sight of her leaves his head much too active for him to lay himself down for a proper rest. For a time, Robb decided to watch his sleeping wife until sleep had finally claimed him.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Her cheeks were wet and her body bathed in a cold sweat. Joanna trembled as her heart was beating erratically in her chest and her lungs were desperately refilling themselves with much needed air. The remnants of her nightmare still clung to her mind, haunting her. She hasn't had a good night's rest since Bran's fall and all her nightmares were of how achingly slow she was from trying to save him. Even worse, she kept seeing the man that pushed him, who was unfortunately still hidden by a shadow. She kept thinking she might get a glimpse of his face, but her nightmare tormented her with the fact that she may never know the man's identity. Joanna lifted her hands to her face, using the back of her wrists to wipe her watery eyes before attempting to gain a fair bit of composure. Nobody could see her like this.

Joanna's eyes eventually scanned around the room, her mind no longer trapped within the nightmare. "This is Robb's chambers," she murmured to herself. _Ours_ , she mentally reminded herself as well. Either way, he wasn't here. Her hand slowly came to rest on his side of the bed only to feel the sheets cool to the touch. He must've left hours ago, leaving her to wonder what time it currently was. Wait, how did she even get here? Knitting her brows together, she tried to think of where she was last night. She was with Arya, Rickon, and Sansa… wasn't she? So who brought her here? A sudden and rather foggy memory of being carried came to mind as well as Robb telling her to sleep. Did he actually carry her all the way here?

Falling back onto the bed, Joanna buried her face into the pillow and let out a frustrated groan. She had not wanted to bother him at all. Joanna kept her distance from him for a reason and now she has worried him enough for him to seek her out. He did not need to be distracted or concerned for her. There was already enough on his shoulders as is. Robb was going to be the Lord of Winterfell once his father left and such a responsibility couldn't afford distractions. And that's what she was to him right now; a silly distraction. A distraction he could certainly be without.

Her ears picked up on the sound of the door opening, forcing her to raise her head to see who it was that came to see her. Joanna sighed in relief, her eyes softening as she gazed at him for what might the last time. "You've slept in quite late," said Steffon as he opened the door wider, allowing Emeline and Aleyth to rush in and prepare the table to break her fast. "Stark wouldn't have anything to do with that now, would he?"

A flush of pink had arisen in her cheeks, her brows drawing themselves together to unveil her irritation. "No, he doesn't. My night was spent entertaining Rickon, Arya, and Sansa." Climbing out of the bed, she gave him a glare as she tried to fix her hair so that it wasn't too wild. She may have not cared when it was only Steffon and her handmaidens but if Robb walked in and saw her like this, she would be ashamed of herself.

Steffon took a seat, plucking a grape into his mouth that he took from the small and wooden bowl of fruit. "I don't have the heart to hear if he did." The glower she wore had slowly began to melt.

"Then don't ask if you don't have the heart for it, Steff." He smiled at her reply and as always, she mirrored him. They truly looked like twins when they smiled.

He did his best not to wear the expression and so it flashed across his eyes instead. It was a brief yet stormy look of hurt. Her heart ached to catch it and she wished she hadn't. How was she supposed to not end up crying her eyes out before she even reached the courtyard to bid them all goodbye? Her family would be leaving her today. Today all her Lannister and Baratheon family would have no reason to stay in Winterfell. Joanna had been dreading this day since she first swore her vows to Robb before the heart tree.

"I have to ask," Steffon said, always wanting the last word. "I have to know if all is still well for you before I leave. I entrusted Robb Stark your happiness and your protection. I'd like to make sure that I didn't make a mistake."

Her smile grew wider at his words, a fuzzy feeling of warmth flooded her chest. "I'm happy and protected." The Starks made her happy and Robb never fell short in making her feel secure. Even after Lord Stark mentioned her life may also be in danger, Joanna never once felt fear for her life since that day. It felt like someone was watching over her in the shadows, making sure no harm would befall her. It may have been her mind trying to make her feel at ease considering she never saw this supposed silent protector.

"I know but it's better to hear it from you." Steffon pushed himself from out of the chair and onto his feet, already heading off towards the door.

A rush of panic swept over her at the sight of his back as he aimed to leave. Joanna ran towards Steffon, letting her arms encircle him and push her face into the wall that was his back. He had let out a deep exhale; she could feel it from the embrace, the way his body expelled whatever was within that sigh. His callously large hand had patted one of hers before giving a warm and firm squeeze. "You're a woman-grown now," said Steffon in a rather scolding yet loving manner, "and yet you still act the child." Joanna normally would've been infuriated by his words since she hated whenever he compared her to a child. She was simply in a mood where she just wanted to hold him. Soon Steffon would be king; King Steffon Baratheon, the first of his name, and will have himself a wife and babes. How could he ever have the time to think of her and her of him? Once he was gone, everyone would expect for her womb to quicken with Robb's first child.

"Let me be a child!" Joanna fumed, burying her face into him still. "For one last time." Steffon always smelled like what she imagined Spring to be. Flowers first in bloom with trees filled with fresh new leaves, and the warm Spring rain that washed away all the remnants of Winter. Spring was the beginning, and her brother was the beginning of all that she knew. "You've always babied me before but now you wish me grown? Make up your mind."

The way his body shook when he laughed only warmed her heart and she wanted to keep this memory locked away. Joanna pressed her ear against his back to hear it from its base to further make it unforgettable. She was sentimental, she knew that, and for good reason. He was her precious brother, her precious person, and now he would no longer belong only to her anymore. Steffon would have to be shared with all seven kingdoms, but at least she would have this. This one sweet moment in time during the waning days of the long Summer.

 ** _STEFFON_**

Their baby brother was a wailing mess and he only grew louder every time Joffrey threatened him to be quiet. Joanna had hugged and kissed him for what would be the last time in a very long while and Tommen was taking this so much more harder than any of them expected. Steffon tried to soothe him with words, with promises, and other distractions that usually won him over. It was just that at this time the boy could not be so easily consoled. Scooping the boy up in his arms, Tommen suddenly clutched onto Steffon for what felt like dear life. His eyes still poured tears like waterfalls and nobody could ignore the runny mess that was his nose. Steffon patted his little back, sighing as he felt helpless and also annoyed that his doublet and cloak would be ruined with tears and snot alike. Tommen was still half a baby and couldn't be faulted for having such a reaction.

Myrcella was taking this all rather well, having shedded her tears and clung to her older sister a few minutes longer than she probably intended. Joanna smoothed down her hair, whispering words of advice that would probably help their little sister in the future. Steffon watched on with sad eyes but swelled with pride when once Joanna left her, Myrcella wiped her face and raised her head, looking everything like a princess again. No one would've thought that just moments prior she was bereft to leave her older sister to return back home.

Joffrey squirmed within Joanna's embrace, though he patted her back in a mummer's farce; poorly playing the role of a sad brother. It was always difficult to understand what went through Joffrey's head. Was he truly sad or was he overjoyed that Joanna would no longer hover over him with all her protective (and albeit nagging) ways? He had dealt with that plenty from their mother already and now Joanna could no longer stalk around to keep him safe anymore. Mayhaps Joffrey would miss her, but there was a large sense of doubt that he'd ever be vocal about such feelings. A boar may have to fly overhead for such a day to come.

He wasn't around when Joanna said her goodbyes to their mother and father. The both of them were solemn and red-eyed from when he saw them last. His father's heart already seemed heavy for Lord Stark due to what happened to Bran and so it must've doubled knowing this may be the last time in a long while he'd see his first trueborn daughter again. Their mother was quick to hide her sadness by hurrying herself in the wheelhouse. She refused to spill her tears in the presence of others and so she found solace for a while until the children would join her. It was Steffon that gave her this time alone by keeping Myrcella and Tommen with him in the courtyard for a little while longer.

Joanna approached him despite them having already said their silent goodbye in her chambers. With her head tilted back and her eyes looking up at him, he saw how rimmed with red and how watery they were with fresh new tears. Steffon reached out to her, cupping the back of her head and reeling her in close to lay a kiss at the top of it. It amused him how she still smelled of gardenia and how much stronger it was in the sunlight that was her hair. Joanna still loved that scent ever since they were children for she had once tumbled in a bush of gardenias during their play. Once she loved something, Joanna loved it forever.

"The North agrees with you, Joanna." She seemed lovelier here. It was like she finally found a place she had truly fit in at. The Red Keep may have been their home since birth, but Joanna did not flourish there as she had here in Winterfell. "This is where you belong."

Her smile was small for her eyes said everything. In a way, she silently agreed although she still had her doubts as always. "You think so?" Her voice was somewhat hoarse.

"I know so," he said with certainty before bringing his hand and arm back to his side.

"Take care good care of Arya and Sansa for me, and Lord Stark as well!" Steffon hadn't expected that. He playfully rolled his eyes, his mouth in the shape of a half-smile. "They have no inkling of what the South is like and only you can give them guidance."

"I didn't need for you to tell me that." It was already what Steffon intended to do. The Starks couldn't go there blind if they meant to survive. "Worry about your good-mother, good-brothers and your husband. The four of them need you now more than ever."

Joanna nodded slowly, her gaze soon lowering to the ground. She then bent her knees and combed her long fingers through the not full yet shaggy mane of Loreon. "I'll miss you as well, Loreon. Seven knows how sad Calla will be once you're gone." As Joanna stood straight, the Baratheon twins observed the sibling lions nuzzle each other, almost as if they were saying their own goodbyes. It seemed almost cruel to separate them considering they were the only ones of their pride that remained together.

There was no time to wallow about the inevitable. Robb Stark sauntered his way over, having done his best to wait for the atmosphere to become more approachable. Steffon had noticed him watching, having done his best to give both himself and Joanna enough time to have their words without interruption. He smiled at thought, having felt twice as relieved that Joanna was married to someone that considerate. Things could've been worse for her had she married who their mother wanted her to.

Joanna jumped at the feel of a hand pressed to the small of her back. She visibly relaxed, however, upon seeing that it was Robb. She straightened herself to look like some proper, little wife and it was strange to say that she fell into the role quite impeccably. "I never got the chance to thank you for that chair you've made for Bran. Maester Luwin had let me take a look at it and I'm impressed, really."

"I had some help," Steffon ruefully admitted, "but it's the least I could do. If there are ever any problems, you can always send a raven to King's Landing."

Robb gave a firm nod, agreeing that he would take the caution to ask for any help concerning the chair. "I wonder if the next time we meet, I'll be going south for your wedding." A half-smile was on Robb's face and grew wider as Steffon sighed and crossed his arms. He still was not all that enthused about getting married.

"It's likely. I promised my father that before the year is done, I'll have myself a wife." And once he was back home, he had to sift through all the potential women. Steffon's work was never done. If it wasn't one thing, it was another that demanded his attention. "Though I can only hope my marriage turns out half as well as yours and Joanna. After all, if I choose wrong then I have cursed the kingdoms with an awful queen."

Joanna shook her head, letting out a sigh. "Knowing you, you wouldn't care as long as she's pretty."

Robb stifled a laugh. "You'd ruin Westeros for beauty, Steffon?" he asked, sounding half-joking and half-serious.

"I'm the one that has to marry her," Steffon japed. "If she's going to bring us all hell then at the very least she should be worth looking at." The married couple laughed in unison at his jest, further proving how well they fit together. Steffon then took a look at his baby brother, just to find that Tommen cried himself to sleep. "I best be going then." Robb and Steffon grabbed arms as a message of farewell. "Take care of my sister, Stark. There's no one I love more in this world and if I have to march back up here, I will."

"She's safe with me. Just don't bring us all to ruin, Baratheon." Both young men grinned before Steffon glanced at his sister, seeing how ready she was to begin crying again. Steffon decided not to coddle her, knowing if he tried to comfort her again that he'd be ready to escort her back into the wheelhouse and pretend she wasn't a married woman. He settled to lightly pinch her face in good fun before placing a hand atop of Myrcella's back, who had been exceedingly patient as she waited for him. He silently led her to the wheelhouse with Tommen still in his arms.

Joffrey was already inside with their mother, who was absently staring at nothing in particular. Her eyes gained focus when Myrcella stepped in and Steffon laid Tommen on the seats, resting his head on their mother's lap. Cersei smiled easily at her youngest boy, her fingers beginning to comb through his hair before she lifted her gaze meet Steffon's. He didn't know what to say and thought that a smile was sufficient enough. The awkwardness increased until Steffon closed the door, wondering if he should have said something to comfort her. That would've been the right thing, wouldn't it? But what could he say to assuage a mother's sadness over leaving her daughter in a foreign country?

Loreon had been placed into his cart, Nymeria and Lady made to join him. The direwolves seemed content while the hrakkar appeared forlorn. Strange how the lion always seemed to outwardly show everything Steffon felt but couldn't due to who he was. Everyone understood how he felt, knowing how difficult and sad it was to part with family—a twin no less—but he's the crown prince. They expected him to swallow all his emotions down like some necessary bitter potion. Already could he feel eyes watching him, people already eager to tell others of his behavior during departure. Was he still ever princely or was he like a lost little boy, they probably pondered. Gossip never sleeps and stories are always being made. Steffon would give them nothing to joyfully regale about as per usual.

Seeing as all was ready, he mounted Shadow Runner, who he had saddled himself early in the morn so he wouldn't have to deal with her getting into a finicky mood once fully awake. She seemed happy, for now, and that may have been due to the fact that they would be on the road again. Shadow Runner had an adventurous spirit, always enjoying to be on the move for the stables were too stifling for her. Something told him she'll become difficult a good portion of this trip since their father would likely make the trip back just as long as their way up here. It was already long enough due to all the people that came, but now his father would want to spend more time hunting now that his best friend was with him.

"Steffon, ride alongside us!" His head turned left, eyes looking down to meet Arya's. She was settled into a cart with Sansa and Septa Mordane.

"Arya!" scolded the septa. "You cannot command Prince Steffon to do as you please! And you _must_ speak his title. Mind your words, My Lady."

No wonder Arya was always so set on running from lessons. If he was stuck with this woman then Steffon would want to run away, too. Nevermind that decorum was becoming of a lady, she didn't have to say it in the manner that she did. It just made it all too obvious who Mordane favored without so much as outright saying it. No matter, though. Steffon didn't mind putting the woman in her place. He did so before with the Poole girl.

"Lady Arya and I are friends, Septa Mordane. And it was I who requested she call me by name and not by title." The woman's face reddened some, embarrassment flooding her features. A smug smile played about on Arya's lips and she didn't even attempt to hide it. "Even so, I'm afraid I can't, My Lady. My father prefers me to be in the front. Trust me when I say, you would've been much better company." A pout came about and then a heavy sigh. With a reluctant nod of her head, she accepted that this was the way of things.

The cavalcade began to move once the gates of Winterfell opened. Steffon heeled Shadow Runner into a trot, knowing he had to make his way to the front where his father and Lord Stark rode. He didn't much care to be squashed in the middle of their reminiscing, even if he did enjoy the idea of hearing tales with both perspectives now in the mix. His father tended to forget, over-exaggerate, and stretch the truth. It would be nice to hear how things really went to stories he has heard over a thousand times, but part of him just felt too hollow to enjoy anything at the moment. He was leaving half of his heart in Winterfell after all. The pain—longing, realization, and uncertainty of the days to come without her—hadn't settled in yet. It was just prominent enough that Steffon was conscious of it.

"You miss her already?" The voice surprised him, mainly due to the fact that Steffon had forgotten entirely that Jon Snow was with them. It was good thing that he was broken out of his sorrowful ruminations regardless.

"It's on my face, isn't it?" Steffon asked only to receive a nod that gave answer to the obvious. "I've been beside her all my life. It's never easy to let someone like that go."

"I understand," Jon replied. "Robb and I are close in age and never had I thought of the day where I wouldn't see him every day." It wasn't exactly the same, just faintly similar. "And Arya…" There was a stronger taste of pain there and Steffon could see it take shape on Snow's face.

He chose quiet, at least for a few minutes so that the both of them could end the personal discussion without it growing awkward. Steffon didn't want to keep feeling vulnerable lest he sulk constantly like the young man beside him. Jon Snow was good company and a good friend as well, but he was too much of a brood despite being so young. He hoped going south would've bled that right out of him yet he chose further north. It would only get worse, Steffon surmised. "So I suppose this means you still intend on joining the Night's Watch?" inquired the Crown Prince.

Jon's nod was as solemn as the look on his face. "Aye," he answered. "I thought about it for a long while…" Steffon fixed his gaze towards the open and green plains stretched before them. "And what you said about making a name for myself. I realized that it is not so much as the glory that I want, but to know that I made something of myself from the choices I made all on my own. I believe in the Watch I'll be more in control of my own destiny than as a knight in your Kingsguard." Steffon hummed in thought, supposing that there was some truth in that. Who knows what kind of man Jon would become in the Watch. Maybe he would rise above and become Lord Commander for all he knew. "I chose the Watch first and I think I have to see it through, but I'm grateful for the offer. It's more than what anyone could've ever given me."

"You made the right choice," Steffon settled to say. No matter how he felt about the Watch, he could admire a person for taking a narrow path. If you decided on something, you should see it through to the very end. Hopefully, Jon wouldn't one day regret his choice or pay a terrible price for it. "You surely would've melted in the south," he decided to joke to turn this conversation into a much lighter one. Heavy subject to heavy subject wasn't the best course of action.

Jon chuckled and nodded. "I'm a Northerner through and through. You Southerners can keep your warmth."

"I expect ravens," the Prince made clear. "I want to hear what the Watch is all about and if I was wrong for all that I assumed. You'll also be needing men, no? I can provide them." The men would be more or less criminals, but that was to be expected. How Jon would survive among such villainous men was something he'd like to read about. The struggle to respect and rely on people known to be wrong in all the ways that count is surely a good read than those romance imbued tales his sister loved.

"You'll have them," Jon then sighed. "Your sister has warned me plenty not to become a stranger." Steffon smirked at the vision of Joanna scolding Jon about writing to her. He did not doubt for a minute that she nagged and nagged so Jon could not forget.

"You'd do well to follow through or else you'll have yourself a wrath worn visitor." Steffon meant what he said. When the ravens stop coming from his squire days, Joanna made it her mission to see him for herself and nothing was more embarrassing than that.

 ** _JOANNA_**

Her family, friends, and half her heart were a week and few days gone.

Isolde, her best friend and lady-in-waiting, had left with Joanna's family and would be returning Feastfires for she no longer served a princess. Emeline and Aleyth, she had gifted her faithful handmaidens their freedom for all the years they had been with her. Emeline had gotten more out of the two, however; a successfully arranged marriage between her and the young knight that Joanna discovered her handmaiden fancied during their stay in the Stormlands. Aleyth, however, refused the chance to be her own woman. She was determined to live out her days at Joanna's side; _"Nobody can take care of you better than I can, Milady! I'm here to stay,"_ were her words exactly.

In light of having one familiar face beside her, Joanna continued to feel lonelier than ever. Robb was busier than before now that he was made to fully commit to being the Lord of Winterfell. Rickon took most of her time until he had lessons with Maester Luwin or his daily naps. Brandon still slept and her good-mother still prayed and wept. There wasn't anyone who could comfort her about the absence of her family and having to adjust to a new country without them. Such a thing should've been the kindness of Lady Stark, who was as southron as Joanna was, but her son mattered more. Joanna could not even dare to hope that the woman would fixate on her when her son was in such a state.

It was starting to worry her, somewhat, if coming to memorize Robb's schedule was wrong. Her lord husband either trained in the morning with Ser Rodrik and Theon Greyjoy or holed himself up in meetings with estate stewards and read reports of local disputes in the winter town. By mid-afternoon, he would complete short errands that were personal and sometimes not. Two days out of the current week, he chose to spend most of his morning in the godswood for prayer. It seemed as if his time meditating in the godswood was the only time he really had to himself.

Joanna felt thoroughly flustered of how she could run through his days in her head. Surely Robb wouldn't be fond of the thought of being watched, even if she was his wife. She had sought to put herself in Robb's path, doing whatever she could to nurture her need for his attention without making herself too obvious. Aleyth found it all humorous, commenting that it would've been simpler if she had simply approached Robb than playing the role of what was humiliatingly akin to a stalker. No one could measure how embarrassed Joanna felt when brought to that realization…

Starting two days ago, however, it seemed as though Robb was coming around quite often. When Joanna decided to stay in the library, reading all the Northern books and scrolls she could gather, she would glance up and find Robb browsing around. When she and Rickon had played in the kitchens, eating whatever Gage baked for them that was sweet, he lingered around and then would just as quickly take his leave. Were those encounters nothing more than a coincidence? Joanna wasn't sure, but each time she had hoped Robb would stay around or at least speak.

How strange it was to miss someone that was always around.

"Are you certain, Lady Joanna?" Maester Luwin regained her attention. Joanna tore her eyes from the window and turned to face him. He sat beside Rickon to properly survey the practice of the boy's penmanship. The youngest Stark decided the name he'd learn to write today would be hers. He was still a bit shaky and sloppy with the quill, though he managed to spell it right on the very first try. Joanna adored the loops he made of the first letter of her name and found she might take on that style from now on.

"I am certain." She laced her fingers together, giving a rather stern nod. "Robb cannot handle everything on his own and my good-mother is… indisposed. I'm meant to be the Lady of Winterfell one day, and so it should be up to me fulfill the role whenever necessary."

A smile had spread across the Maester's face, leaving her unsure as to why. She was being dutiful and Catelyn was currently unable to pick up the burdens of running the household. Her son laid broken and sleeping, that demanded her attention more. Something would have to be done about it eventually, of that Joanna was certain. Letting her good-mother stay in the sickroom like that would soon do more harm than good should Bran not wake up anytime soon. But that was a thought for another time.

"If you wish, My Lady." Having his approval calmed her nerves. She was worried he would find her too imposing, as if she wanted to push some authority she had no right in having. Joanna had been trained all her life for this and it was best to put what she learned to proper use.

"Does that mean you'll have less time with me?" Rickon quietly asked, his eyes lifting from the parchment he was practicing on. He seemed sad and it was never her intention to hurt him.

"I'm afraid so." She gave him honesty, knowing that lying will only make things worse. His bottom lip stuck out and his eyes became watery. Luwin placed his hand on Rickon's shoulder, muttering words to soothe him. Rickon had no children to play with and so all his fun was spent with her. Luwin could not run around and chase him or play a game of hide-and-seek. Robb had no time to indulge him either and whenever he tried to make some, it was unfortunately limited.

"I will make a list of what needs to be properly taken cared of," Luwin informed her, grabbing the nearest blank parchment and quill. "Would a daily routine be easier for you to remember?"

A schedule wouldn't hurt, but it would eventually be ignored. Joanna loathed to admit that she tended to break them more often than not. Whenever she made plans, she would suddenly change her mind on a whim or by a very minor convenience. It used to frustrate both her twin and septa a great deal. But what could she do to distract herself from her duties now? She was all on her own most of the time. Any whims to be felt were best ignored. "A routine would be lovely," she nearly said with gritted teeth. Her smile had done its duty of not letting him believe otherwise for Luwin began to work, the feather-pen moving quickly.

Her eyes then fell to Rickon, who was doing his best to silence his sniffling and focus on his work. It made her heart ache to know he would feel lonely. Shaggydog was only a wolf and wolves could not compare to a human companionship. Joanna became well aware of that when she mistakenly vented all her frustrations to Calla, only to be given a pur or a growl or just a simple stare in return. Her lion knew nothing of her troubles either, but she did certainly proved to have a care. Calla became twice as affectionate with Steffon and Loreon gone. As much as she loved to play with the direwolves, sometimes she would stop herself and lay at Joanna's feet or light gnaw at her hand, devoting her time of daily fun to console her mistress.

"Maester Luwin, if it isn't too much, but may Rickon's lessons end early for today?" The boy in question raised his head, Luwin's quill still ever moving although it was clear he was listening to her. "As the days ahead will be busy for me, I'd like to spend the rest of the day with him until things are settled."

Beaming now, the boy's feet swung happily and he bounced in his seat. "Please, Maester Luwin! Please can I spend the day with Joanna?" he begged. "I promise to practice harder the next lesson!"

It was a bit unfair, of her to ask this. Rickon's lessons were nothing that should be thrown out of balance and to give in to his not-so important needs wasn't mature of her. Lessons were important, she knew that since one day this boy would grow and have a wife, children, and likely a holdfast of his own. He had a very bright and important future ahead of him and these were the years he should be soaking in all the knowledge that he could.

Luwin glanced at the big, pleading Tully eyes of the Little Stark and a tired sigh left him before he brought his quill to a sudden halt. "Had it not been for the current state of things, I would have to decline." Joanna lowered her head and eyes guilty, more now than ever feeling like a child that should be scolded. "But Lord Rickon has promised me something he never has before and for that, I'll let him have his way for the day."

Overjoyed, Rickon lept off his chair and hurried his way over to her. Joanna chuckled as he took hold of both her hands, somewhat overwhelming her with all his excitement as he jumped in place. "Let's play hide-and-seek! You found me too fast the last time." It wasn't her intention to find him so fast. She could never tell him that it was Shaggydog that gave him away or else he'd shoo the wolf away and she would truly have a difficult time finding him.

"All right," said Joanna as Rickon had let go of her and walked towards the door. He turned around as she held her hands up to her eyes and began to count to ten. "One, two…" And just like that, she heard the sound of his feet speeding out of the turret and down the stairway.

"You're a natural with children," Luwin commented, having gone back to making the schedule as promised.

"Being an older sister helps a great deal." She immediately thought of sweet Tommen and precious Myrcella. Her heart warmed and then faltered in beat at the mere thought of them. Tommen was still half a baby and the next time she might lay eyes on him, he would be a man-grown. And Myrcella? She'd be a mother and a wife most likely. It was so strange thinking of adulthood of what used to be little bundles in her mother's arms.

The Maester hummed in agreement despite his words not quite matching. "Not always." Joanna began thinking of Sansa and Arya now, and how their ever feuding ways were both aggravating and endearing. It left her grateful that she and Myrcella so rarely ever argued because she could not fathom to ever be at odds with her sister over the littlest of things that gotten the Stark sisters riled up. "I should have this finished and on your desk before nightfall. If you will, My Lady, please hurry and find the boy or else he finds himself in mischief."

Mischief most likely meant he would cross paths with Robb and plead for his brother's attention. More than likely, Robb was probably stuck in the middle of something important. "Thank you, Maester Luwin." Joanna quickly gathered her skirts and hurried out of the small tower, hoping that Rickon and Robb didn't meet, at least not yet.

Rickon took this game very seriously, and she could only say that because she was having difficulty finding him. He was in none of the rooms she thought to look in, not under any of the beds, desks or behind any curtains. She was beginning to believe he wasn't in the castle at all. With a sigh, Joanna went to her—and Robb's—chambers to retrieve her cloak, but it wasn't there. At least not the one she had folded neatly in her wardrobe. Furrowing her brows, Joanna began to rummage for it for a third time just to have no luck whatsoever in finding it. "Where is my cloak? Did Aleyth take it?" she asked herself.

Her body had gone entirely stiff at the very sudden and muffled sound. Joanna took a step back from the wardrobe, her head turning in the direction of the partition. "Is someone there?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice loud and clear. In actuality, she was afraid to the point she was trembling and her heart was beginning to race. Muffled as it was, it sounded a lot like laughter and it had became much louder than before. That alone was enough to give her the courage to take some steps forward. Before Joanna could peer behind the partition, two figures had jumped out towards her, shocking her heart to a near stop and making her stumble backwards until she fell in the seat of the closest chair.

A chorus of laughter took her out of the frightened and confused stupor she was in. Her green eyes could now see a perfectly clear image of both Robb and Rickon. The boys had tears pooled at the corner of their eyes, their arms wrapped around their middles. Joanna slowly blinked twice, not having gotten all her senses together just yet. "Did we scare you, Jo?" Rickon finally calmed down, quickly approaching her with mirth still glinting in his eyes.

Placing her hand above her heart, she could feel how wildly it was still beating beneath her palm. "Of course you scared me!" Her voice was a little louder than what she intended to be and she was somewhat—and that's putting it mildly—frustrated. Her eyes then shot a glare at her lord husband, who was grinning from ear-to-ear, not at all phased about her obvious anger. If she had took the time to read his expression, Joanna would've saw that he actually enjoyed the sight of her irritation.

"Robb found me in here and said we should surprise you." Joanna's expression softened yet the smile was fought. With a sigh, she placed her hand on Rickon's head, letting her fingers get themselves lost in his wild curls. "Are you upset?"

"No, just surprised." This time she had to smile lest Rickon would think she was truly upset with him.

He beamed and then looked up at Robb, who playfully tugged him away from her. "I need to speak with Joanna alone for a moment, Rickon. It won't take long, so think of a better place to hide this time."

The youngest Stark frowned for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "All right," he conceded before walking out of the room, leaving Joanna and Robb to themselves for the first time in a week and some days.

Within an instant, her mouth ran dry and all her nerves felt as if they were going haywire. What could Robb want to speak to her about? Was it something important? Did it have anything to do with who harmed Bran? Possibility after possibility filled her head until Joanna watched as he walked back over to the partition. Robb grabbed something before returning to stand where she sat. Upon closer inspection, Joanna noticed that it was a cloak. It wasn't the one she was looking for, though.

"I remembered the story you told me about the tradition of hunting a stag during a celebration," he began before stretching his arm, offering her the cloak. "During the last hunt, I managed to find one and had the seamstress use its pelt to make this for you." Slowly, Joanna took the garment from his grasp and let her fingers run themselves through the dark and soft fur. Her eyes then caught something silver in a corner. It was a clasp, made of pure silver, and in the great detail of a wolf; the symbol of House Stark.

"Oh," was all she could utter, her eyes prickling with silly tears. This was not something to cry over, she tried to tell herself. It was too late for her eyes made the world around her all blurry. "Thank you, Robb." At least her voice had come much more stronger than it felt. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I've never got you a proper wedding gift," he said, a smile on his face. "I could hardly think of what a princess could possibly want that I can afford."

The Starks weren't what most people considered wealthy, and Joanna supposed it was extremely unsettling to buy a gift for a former princess of Westeros. She had a great many lavish things; silks, jewelry, and so on. Those things made her happy, precious gems and materials that decorated a person nicely and yet none of things could compare or hold more value than this very cloak. Robb went out of his way, hunting a stag and spending time, that could've been well spent on other matters, talking to seamstress to have it tailored nicely. That made this cloak better than anything else he could've thought to give her.

Gathering herself to her feet, Joanna draped the cloak over her shoulders and fastened the clasp. It felt heavy in a good way, meant to keep her nothing but warm when cold weather was all they would ever know. "How do I look?" she asked, feeling almost too shy to directly meet his gaze.

"Like a true woman of the North," Robb answered. She didn't know what to make of his words and her expression seemed to convey that. "I was worried you would become ill from that thin, little thing you've been wearing."

Her face burned hot and her jaw began to set. It seemed all she was ever good at lately was having Robb concerned about her over stupid, little things. "I've caused you to worry a lot, haven't I?" Her eyes fell to her hands, her fingers fiddling.

"You're my wife," Robb said as he took a step towards her. "I'll always worry about you." She wanted to be happy about what he said, but she couldn't. It wasn't said out of affection, only out of duty. Had she not been his wife, why would he ever bother to worry about her? "I know I haven't been the best husband as of late and I want to rectify that."

Surprised, she met his eyes for a moment to see that Robb truly meant what he said. "What do you mean?" she finally asked after a short spell of silence.

"I mean…" He brought one hand up and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I haven't been around and you must miss your family. I should be spending time with you, making Winterfell feel like home, but I have been so busy with things around here that I've done nothing but neglect you…"

"None of that is your fault, Robb. You're the Lord of Winterfell now." Joanna placed a hand on his arm and gave it a firm squeeze to reassure him. "I don't fault you for being unable to spend time with me."

"But I _want_ to spend time with you, Joanna. I still hardly know you." Her heart leapt in her chest. She fought to keep her smile steady because a part of her wanted to giggle and blush, like some besotted little girl. "Come to the godswood with me," he said abruptly, his voice somewhat rough. "Please."

"I'd like that," answered Joanna, "but I have yet to finish this game with Rickon." It was always something, wasn't it? "I asked the Maester if he could end his lessons early so that I could spend the whole day with him." She wasn't going to tell him that it's because she was going to share his burdens by picking up on his mother's responsibilities. He already felt guilt and she was sure that would only make it worse.

"The only time I have to spend with you, I have to share it with someone else." Joanna gave him an apologetic look. "Fine. It looks like I'm part of this game, too." Robb took hold of her hand and began leading her out of their chambers in search for Rickon.

 ** _ARYA_**

It may have only been a broomhandle, but in Arya's mind it was a greatsword. It was a beautiful and beastly weapon, like her father's Ice. She had fought by the river in a peaceful clearing with her friend Mycah, trying to reenact the battles they've heard all about since their swaddling clothes. It began with pure intentions of only having fun; there was no purpose, just swings without much thought, but Arya's competitive nature could no longer leave it as simple fun. She started to have a care for her swings, her feet moving her lightning quick, and she tried to gracefully spin and dodge in the ways she saw Robb and Jon do whenever they trained and sparred with Ser Jory and Ser Rodrik.

Unfortunately, she was nowhere near their caliber. Mycah was even the better sword than she, and he was just the son of a butcher. She made the foolish mistake of lunging too fast, not at all thinking of the follow up attack, and he caught her broomhandle with his and casually swept it away. The end result was her fingers getting smacked with hard wood, making her drop her broomstick and let out a cry of pain. It wasn't the worst pain she ever felt, but it had shockingly hurt more than she expected.

Their fun, however, was brought to an abrupt end. The downfall began with Prince Joffrey's laughter and her ever prissy sister shouting her name. With her knuckles in her mouth, Arya's grey eyes gave Joffrey the sharpest glare she could summon. She hadn't even took notice of Mycah's fear, the way he was all big-eyed and frozen to his spot, and his broomhandle long since dropped to the ground. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was all steel. All bite. "Go away!" Her eyes were prickling with tears of frustration from the pain as well as from the arrival of both Joffrey and Sansa.

"Your sister?" Joffrey questioned, having looking back and forth between her and Sansa. She supposed she wasn't all that recognizable. Her clothes were a bit ruined from riding, Steffon had let her take Shadow Runner for a ride this morning with her father's permission. Her adventures of the day afterwards led her to getting all muddy from almost head-to-toe. Sansa confirmed who she was with a nod, her cheeks tinted pink. Arya rolled her eyes at the sight, having known her only sister fancied the second prince. He was all she ever blabbed on about. "And who are you, boy?"

The younger Stark girl hadn't liked the tone he used, much less than she liked the way he looked at Mycah. It made her feel uneasy all over. "M-Mycah, M'lord." Did he not recognize that this was Joffrey? A prince? She gave him a confused look before looking back at Joffrey, wanting to observe his every movement because she didn't trust him.

"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa stated.

"He's my _friend_ ," corrected Arya. Butcher's boy or not, she would not allow them to treat her friend any way that they deemed fit. So what if he was of a lower station than them? He was still a person.

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" The prince began to approach them, his sword unsheathed and its handle tightly gripped in his hand. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are." Mycah hadn't moved at all. He was too mortified to. "Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?"

"She asked me to, M'Lord." Arya flushed with guilt. "She asked me to." If she hadn't been so adamant about playing this game then Joffrey wouldn't be antagonizing him.

"I'm your prince, not your lord, and I said pick up your sword." Joffrey wasn't going to leave them alone, apparently. Not until he got whatever it is that he wanted out of this. Arya had no clue what to do despite the overwhelming feeling that she _had_ to do something and quickly. Sansa just stood there, allowing all of this to happen and not even once had begged for the prince to stop.

Mycah hadn't even so much as looked at his broomhandle. His eyes kept following the sword in Joffrey's grasp. "It's not a sword, My Prince. It's only a stick."

Joffrey continued his steps forward, like a lion cornering its prey. "And you're only a butcher's boy, and no knight." The sharp and pointy end of the prince's sword now touched Mycah's cheek, mere inches below his eye. Arya's own eyes widened as she saw her friend beginning to shake with fear. "That was the lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?" Blood, red and bright, began to pour from the slight nudge Joffrey gave so that the blade pierced flesh. He drew a line and blood came dripping down Mycah's cheek.

"Stop it!" Arya shouted, fumbling around to grab the broomhandle she had dropped earlier.

"Arya, stay out of this!" Sansa warned, but it went in one ear and out the other.

Her hands were trembling and her heart was racing. Why wasn't she moving fast enough? "I won't hurt him… _much_ ," Joffrey morbidly teased.

Her hands, clammier than she realized, finally took hold of the broomhandle. With her grip as tight as a vice, she swung it with both hands and the wood met the back of the prince's head. It practically split from the impact and red devoured the gold of the Baratheon's hair. Joffrey swayed at first, having to steady himself so that he could spin himself around. His face was scrunched up with pure anger.

"Go to Prince Steffon!" Arya shouted as Mycah ran, and she hoped that he heard her. Steffon would protect them, of that she firmly believed. The Crown Prince knew that Joffrey was cruel and he would believe them and defend them. He defended Robb against Joffrey, surely he would do the same for her. Arya swung for a second time, but the sword in Joffrey's hand sent the broken broomhandle to the ground again.

"No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you're spoiling it!" Sansa was shouting. Arya paid her no mind, already trying to think of what to do next since she knew this fight war far from over. Her eyes searched wildly, looking for any and everything to be her next weapon. All she could find was a rock and once she had it in her hands, she aimed it at Joffrey's head and threw it. She missed. Joffrey's horse was hit instead and the courser sped off. "Stop it! Don't! Stop it!"

All Sansa could manage to do was stand there and scream while Joffrey was trying to slash away at her with his sword. "I'll gut you, you little cunt!" Joffrey shrieked at her.

Helpless and afraid, Arya staggered back, unsure of what to do. Part of her wanted to speed off to the woods, to look for Mycah and go immediately to her father or Steffon. But Joffrey had her trapped, her back up against a tree, and his sword sharp and bloody as it was pointed at her.

Nymeria leapt, on a one track path towards Joffrey, but a blur of white tackled her direwolf to the ground. The white Hrakkar roared loudly in Nymeria's face before turning his head to Arya and Joffrey. "Nymeria!" she screamed out of fear, wondering if the direwolf was hurt. In that moment, she hated Loreon, wondering why the lion came to Joffrey's defense and not hers. "Get off her, Loreon!"

The lion roared again, enough to make Arya silent and terrified while Joffrey lowered his sword and stared. Birds flew out of the trees and into the skies, likely frightened by the sound of the big, white cat. Loreon kept Nymeria pinned to the ground, her direwolf wriggling and growling as she tried to free herself. A ferocious glare was given by Loreon, and Arya immediately pieced together that it was a look of warning. She just couldn't pinpoint if it was meant for her or for Joffrey.

This was a good distraction as any, she realized. It gave her the perfect opening. Arya immediately picked up another rock and threw it at Joffrey again, hitting him squarely on the head this time. His hand brought itself up to where he was hit and with a kick, she knocked the sword out of his hand and picked it up. Now the tides were turned, and it was all in her favor.

With both hands, the Stark girl pointed the sword at Joffrey, who quickly raised his hands in defeat. "Don't hurt me," he whimpered. "I'll tell my mother." His threat was as weak as he looked.

"Arya, leave him alone!" Clenching her jaw, Arya looked at the sword and then at the river. With a spin, she threw the sword into the air and watched it fall into the river with a splash. Never again would Joffrey use it to harm her or anyone else.

Loreon had released Nymeria, much more gently than how he tackled her. Unsure of what to make of the lion's interference, she bounded off to the forest with Nymeria dashing beside her. With the way Loreon behaved, she wasn't sure if it was safe to go to Steffon or not.

 ** _CATELYN_**

Hardly did she realize it was nightfall. The concept of time, of sunset and sunrise, was entirely lost on her as she sat in Bran's sickroom. It was like a different world, closed off the outside where time was completely still. All she could be concerned about was her sleeping boy. What was the use of knowing if the sun was up or down? It didn't matter because Bran wasn't awake. She wasn't paying any mind to Maester Luwin, who likely came to tell her of some news she had no whit about. If it didn't concern her son then what good was anything he had to say? "I've come to inform you, My Lady, that Lady Joanna has decided to take on your responsibilities. The figures, the food storages, appointments and all your duties will be handled by her from this day onward until you are ready to bear such tasks again."

That surprised her. Her hand, that had been brushing some of Bran's hair away from his face, had suddenly halt mid-stroke. Her tired eyes gazed up at Luwin, wondering if she had heard him right. "When did she decide this?" she asked. "The last I saw her, she had not said a thing." Did she really expect her to? Joanna had visited the sickroom often, but she never spoke a word. The two of them would sit in silence. Sometimes Joanna would wash Bran's head, neck, and arms or turn him so he would not have bed sores. Other times, she simply held Catelyn's hand or hummed a familiar, Southern tune. It was comforting, all the things she had done, but it certainly left Catelyn feeling guilty whenever the girl left her for the day.

Joanna was now a Stark and her family freshly left her. It should've been her to take care of the girl, to remind her she was surrounded by love and support, and make her forget the homesickness that surely affected her. Catelyn had no one to do the same for her when she first arrived in Winterfell, and so she knew the girl's suffering more than anyone else. But Bran needed her and she couldn't leave him.

"She decided this today," Luwin answered. Catelyn nodded in understanding, and she found no real fault for Joanna taking on the duties of a Lady of Winterfell. The girl had been properly trained to run a household and what had to be done surely wasn't all that difficult considering it hasn't even been two full weeks. "Should she be met with any difficulties, I will assist her, but I believe we can trust things to be well in her hands."

Maester Luwin had a surprising amount of faith in Joanna. Catelyn wasn't sure what to make of that, but she trusted him. There was no one she could trust more. "You will assist who, Maester Luwin?" She had no idea that Robb had entered the room, she hadn't even heard the door open. Was she truly that lost inside her own head?

Luwin shifted his attention from her and to her eldest son. "Lady Joanna decided to take on your mother's responsibilities. She has not told you of this?" Robb looked more than surprised.

"No, she didn't." It did prove strange that Joanna had not informed Robb of any of this. Her mind, however, was too tired and too focused on Bran's broken body to really put too much thought into this. Joanna was a reasonable girl, surely she had her reasons. "I was just with her a moment ago and she said nothing about it."

The Maester's expression softened. "I suppose she kept quiet out of fear you'd be concerned. It was you and Lady Stark that she thought of when she decided this."

Her heart became heavier upon the explanation and Catelyn, for a moment, felt like a failure as both a mother and Lady of Winterfell. Her son was taking more responsibilities than necessary and now was her good-daughter. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, trying to sort herself together. She felt half mad, entirely weary, lonely and her head did nothing but ache. She missed Ned. She missed her girls. She missed the sound of Bran's laughter.

"I'll take my leave," Luwin announced before bowing his head and walking out of the room. Robb crossed the room to close the door behind him, and the room felt stifling again.

"Mother, what are you doing?" Her son asked, his voice low and stern. For a moment, Catelyn saw a full glimpse of her beloved Ned in their son.

"What am I doing?" she repeated, more than confused. "How can you ask that? What do you imagine I'm doing? I am taking care of your brother. I am taking care of Bran."

"Is that what you call it?" he said rather accusingly. "You haven't left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gate when Father and the girls went south."

"I said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window." Catelyn couldn't meet his eyes. She didn't want to feel the shame she would surely feel from the look on his face. "I can't leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him. If… If…" Her hand reached for Bran's, limp and pale and thin, to intertwine their fingers.

A sigh left him. A troubled and sad sigh left Robb. "He's not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the greatest time of danger has passed."

"What if he's wrong?" Seven be good, she prayed he wasn't. "Bran needs me."

"Rickon needs you!" She visibly shuddered, guilt burning hot and bright as her heart felt like a ton. "He's only six, he doesn't understand what's happening. He's seeking from Joanna what he should be getting from you." Joanna had no children, only seventeen, and now she was taking on motherly responsibilities as well. Could Robb consider how much worse this was making her feel? Could he not remind her of what she was doing wrong when she was trying to do right by Bran?

The wolves; Bran's wolf, Rickon's wolf, and Robb's own were howling. Catelyn trembled at the sound of them, falling into madness as they continued on. "Close the windows! I can't stand it! Please make them stop." Every night they howled, and they gave lyrics to the grief singing within her. She didn't want to hear it, she felt it all too much already.

"Fire," Robb uttered. "You stay here." He turned to look at her, and Catelyn feared the fire was close. "I'll come back." And with that, Robb hurried out of the room. She stood to her feet, prayer wheel unfinished and abandoned, to make her way to the window. Orange and yellow flames were devouring the library. It was relief she felt at the sight, considering that it was far, across the bailey. The fire could not harm Bran or her from there.

Catelyn turned to make her way back to Bran's bedside, but at the doorway stood a man. A man she surely did not know. "You weren't s'posed to be here," he said and his face was etched with aggravation. "No one was s'posed to be here." Her eyes then lowered to the dagger he held in his hand. That was all she needed to know, the reason why he was here. "It's a mercy. He's dead already."

"No!" The sound of metal leaving its sheath made her move. Screaming out for help from the window was no longer an option, she would have defend her son with her very life now. Their tousle began, her hands grabbing hold of the sharp edge of the blade with all the strength she could muster. She had to keep it from her throat that he was desperately trying to slit open. Her hold was becoming slippery from all the blood that oozed out from her deeply cut fingers, but her hold would not lessen. She couldn't lose her grip.

His hand was clamped tight over her mouth and it brought her no pleasure to sink her teeth into his hand. She bit down as hard as she could, trying to tear at him as the wolves did with their meals. Blood, his blood, coated her mouth and she was desperate for a taste of air so that she could scream. His body fell to the floor, limbs limp as they slid off her. Stunned, relieved and lost in a sea of fear and pain, Catelyn whirled around to see Joanna with a fire iron in her hands. She was shaking, bottom lip wobbling and her eyes as big as they could be. Blood coated the sharp tip of the rod, proving it was the object she use. He wasn't dead, only out cold.

Both of them stared at one another, breath labored, and words seeming to mean nothing to them now. Joanna moved in silence, kneeling to rip the hem of her dress to tie the assassin's wrists. Catelyn lowered herself to her knees, watching as her fingers bled and throbbed. The girl was struggling, clearly having no idea what she was doing, but doing her very best.

It wasn't long until Bran's wolf, Robb, Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrik arrived and flooded into the room with half the guards in Winterfell. Their eyes trailed from her bleeding fingers and to the unconscious man on the floor. Shock wasn't a strong enough word to describe what they felt over what transpired here.

"Ser Rodrik," Robb broke the silence, "take him to the dungeons. We'll question him after my mother is tended to."

 _ **STEFFON**_

Steffon dropped down from his horse, landing onto the thick and tall grass with a soft thud. The sky was aglow, colored like peaches from the Summer Isles while the sun itself was a pure shade of gold as lowered into the horizon. All the green foliage that stretched out before him was bathed in a warm light, which anyone would've loved if they had a taste for the beauty of scenery. Steffon, however, could not be bothered with such thing. He was out here for a reason and he meant to see it through.

"Well," began the person he was expecting. A figure stepped out from behind the tree that kept them hidden thus far. "You look like shit."

"You'd look the same after all this traveling," Steffon's reply made them laugh as they lowered their hood and revealed their face. Standing before the Crown Prince was a young man of twenty, tall but not taller than Steffon. His style of hair was an undercut with long, dark blond hair tied at the vertex in a single, long braid that went down the middle of his back. The thing people remembered most about him, however, was the vertical scar down his left eye than his strange coiffure. He was halfway blind in that eye, able to still see although everything was blurry for him. Such a scar often made people wonder who wanted to wound him so badly, but none had the balls enough to ask. "Why did you come all this way, Syver?"

"You told our commander that if we had any information about what you were looking for then we bring it directly to you." After hearing the explanation, Steffon vividly recalled ordering them to do just that. He couldn't fault the carelessness of this situation when he brought it upon himself. It also didn't help that nobody had any idea that they were going to stay in Winterfell for so long. "We kept our letter short, fearin' someone might interfere."

Grateful that they considered every precaution, Steffon found himself more anxious about the results. "So you found them?" he inquired. "All of them?"

Syver reached into his cloak, pulling out a rolled up parchments that seemed heavy with information. Steffon could always trust them to be thorough and detailed about their results. Something made him doubt that Syver was the one to have written all of this down. It was likely they only made him play the messenger, which they often did whenever he was causing too much trouble in Flea Bottom. And Syver and trouble was always a headache for the City Watch.

Once it was handed to him, Steffon gazed at it with a sense of hope. He had been tirelessly waiting for months for this and now that it was in his hands…. "I don't know why you're doing this, Steffon." He tore his eyes from the parchment to meet the unsmiling expression Syver gave him. "Nothin' good comes out of lookin' for bastards. Do you not remember the Blackfyre Rebellions?"

"I know what I'm doing, Syver." There was no turning back once he went through with this. "Trust me, I'm no fool." Ever since he was born, he had been living a life akin to a dangerous game. He was the Crown Prince, the son of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. How could he think to survive by being so cautious? A paranoid mind would get him nowhere except a path towards self destruction, and that's only if he allowed such a thing. "I have a responsibility and I must see to it."

"You're a better man than me." Syver lifted his hood back up, mounting his horse to prepare to leave. "But what you do and don't do doesn't really matter," he said while grabbing the horse's reins. "So long as me and mine are paid."

"You'll be getting your coins, Syver, and make sure your commander knows that as well," replied Steffon. "As soon as I'm back in King's Landing, the price will be paid in full and then some." He stood there, watching the sellsword leave as he tucked the rolled parchment into one of the many pockets of his person.

The ride back to camp was a short one and so he had to make a pit stop to keep the persona that he wanted fresh air. He let the horse graze, drink at the river, and even took a short nap under a tree to keep up the act. It was never deemed strange when Steffon wandered off with his horse, people only found you suspicious when you did something that you didn't do regularly. Someone would figure it all out eventually, but for now he was going to reap the benefits of not rousing suspicion.

He wasn't sure what he really expected upon his return. It most certainly wasn't this hostile air that hung over the entire camp. All around his father's pavilion were Lannister men, brandishing their weapons as if they had to be on the attack for any reason. What further proved out of the norm was the fact nobody, not one lord or lady, were freely walking about. It would seem they were all inside the large tent or gone to bed early for the night, and the latter seemed unlikely.

Climbing off his mount, Steffon approached the pavilion and the guards. "What is the meaning of this? Is there a conference going on that I know nothing about?" he questioned.

One soldier lowered his weapon, all of them respectfully bowing their heads as they turned to him. "While you were away, Prince Steffon, the Stark girl attacked Prince Joffrey."

Steffon could only stare, his mind unable to formulate any coherent thought whatsoever. All he knew about anything was that he was shocked. He closed his mouth and then looked at the pavilion, unsure of what was told to him was entirely true. For what reason would Arya attack Joffrey? What warranted her to attack him? Did Joffrey provoke her or was it a game that unfortunately went left?

"Out of the way," he commanded and with no itch of hesitancy, they parted and allowed him through. It was certainly crowded in here, and there were plenty of familiar faces. Ser Barristan and a good portion of the Kingsguard that stayed behind met them here, and even his Uncle Renly had come to greet them mid-way. It wasn't unusual for them to want to escort the king and his men back to the capital.

"And what business is that?" Lord Stark had asked, his voice as cold and harsh as the North itself.

Everyone moved out of their way as he walked through the crowd. Steffon would not stop until he was in the front where his father sat and Lord Stark stood before him. Next to his father was his mother and then Joffrey. His brother had satin bandages wrapped around his head, and blood had soaked through them. Next to Lord Stark was Arya, clearly unscathed and dirty, and so one could only assume from the look of things that it was true she attacked him.

"Steffon," his father called him out. "Just where have you been, boy?"

"A ride around around the Darry," he answered calmly. Steffon kept his back straight, all emotion void from his face. "What happened here?"

"Lord Stark's daughter attacked your brother," Cersei answered in his father's place. "Her and her butcher's boy. Then she tried to sick that animal of hers to attack him. Had it not been for your lion, Steffon, who knows what would've become of Joffrey."

Arya quickly turned to face him, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. "That isn't true!" Steffon didn't want to believe Arya was lying to him, but everything appeared pretty damning compared to what Joffrey looked like. "He was hurting Mycah and he was going to hurt me. Nymeria was only trying to protect me but Loreon stopped her."

"See? So the wolf aimed to mangle your brother." Where was the Butcher's boy, he wanted to ask. He was not here, unable to defend himself or Arya. Another side of the story was lost to them without his present. "Joff told us what happened. The girl and the butcher's boy beat him with clubs and she set her wolf on him."

"That's not how it was!" argued Arya, having turned back to his mother with a glare. The girl didn't care that she was speaking against the queen. Arya knew no fear, of that was certain.

Clubs? Where would have Arya gotten her hands on such weapons? Last he remembered, the girl was kicking off the broomheads and using the handles as swords. He only knew that for a fact because she had done this right after Steffon allowed her to trot around camp on Shadow Runner. Was that it? Did his mother change the broomhandles into clubs? "Before I left, Lady Arya was playing with a broomhandle. Where would she have gotten her hands on clubs?"

The girl smiled at him, looking relieved that he remembered that. "We have weapons with us at all times. It isn't so hard for to get her hands on one of them when no one was looking." His mother seemed set on blaming everything on Arya and painting Joffrey as a saint. It just wasn't possible that his brother was without fault in all of this, even if he was worse for wear.

"That's an assumption," Steffon said in Arya's defense. "And aren't all such weapons guarded or are our men slacking?" Cersei frowned, deeply, obviously not enjoying that he was looking for reason than blind loyalty. He had to be careful, his mother's wrath was troublesome and he grew tired of being at odds with her. But if she was wrong, she was wrong.

"But it's true!" Joffrey insisted. "They all attacked me, and she threw Lion's tooth in the river!"

Steffon took notice that the sword usually on his brother's hip was gone. That was certainly unusual, but what he didn't understand was why Joffrey looked away when he spoke. If he was telling only the truth then why did he heavily avoid all eye contact?

"Liar!" shouted Arya.

"Shut up!" Joffrey shouted in return.

"Enough!" His father silenced them with a raise of his hand. It was clear his father wanted nothing to do with this. He was only dealing with the matter because Joffrey was wounded and their mother would not let such a thing go unpunished. He looked as if he dreamed to be elsewhere. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Seven hells! What am I to make of this? Where's your other daughter, Ned?"

"In bed asleep," Ned sounded so sure of that.

His mother further proved that a great deal of this was orchestrated when she beckoned Sansa forward. How could Ned not know his daughter wasn't actually in bed? "She's not. Sansa, come here, darling." Steffon wasn't surprised about any of this. He was only disappointed.

"Now, child…" Robert tried to put on his most coaxing voice. "Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a King."

Sansa walked as if someone demanded her to step on shades of glass; careful steps and full of fear of being cut. She wasn't even dressed as if she left a bed, she was dressed far too nicely and her hair was far too neat. She had been properly dressed a while ago. Just the simple sight of her left Steffon to believe his mother planned for the girl to partake in this without Ned Stark knowing a damn thing. "I don't know," Sansa spoke as if she was on the verge of tears. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see."

The only means of defense for Arya was taken from her. Not even her own sister showed loyalty, acting in favor of both Cersei and Joffrey. Steffon couldn't blame her, though. It never posed well for those that blatantly crossed his mother. It showed disloyalty, yes, but it was a wise decision. "Liar!" Arya shouted, nearly growing wings and flying towards her sister. "Liar! Liar! Liar!" Lord Stark came in-between them, doing his best to not let any of Arya's fists land a hit on her sister.

"Arya, stop it!" It was probably the first time he ever heard the Warden of the North raise his voice. Arya hadn't felt fear at the sound of it because she hadn't even bothered to listen. She was still intent on wrangling Sansa with all her strength. "Stop it! That's enough of that."

"She's as wild as that animal of hers," Cersei commented with disdain. "I want her punished."

The Crown Prince saw the irritation intensify on his father's face. "What would you have me do? Whip her through the streets? Dammit, children fight. It's over."

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," his mother insisted. Scars? His hair would cover all the scarring on his head. It wasn't as dramatic as his mother made it out to be.

Robert then looked to Joffrey. "You let that little girl disarm you?" Joffrey flushed with embarrassment, averting his eyes. Steffon couldn't help but find it funny that a girl as small and skinny as Arya managed to do as much as she did. If only he had been there to see it. "See to it that your daughter is disciplined," his king father said to Ned. "I'll do the same with my son."

"Gladly, Your Grace." It was relief that awashed Ned's face and for once, Steffon was surprised that his father was doing the right thing. Joffrey's punishment might not be what he most likely deserved. His father was no Ned Stark and Joffrey was spoiled rotten.

"And what of the direwolf?" Cersei pursued. "What of the beast that nearly savaged your son?"

Steffon took a step forward, unable to keep his silence now. He couldn't outwardly defend Arya because he was not there and he did not know the truth. It was also terrible to openly take a side against his own family. Even if Arya told the truth, Joffrey was his brother, his blood, and showing any hint of discord was a terrible thing, especially among so many people. It was different if he knew the truth or if Joffrey was openly in the wrong. Steffon still had no idea if everything Joffrey said wasn't the truth, even if he showed signs of lying.

"I'm against the killing of the direwolf, Father." Steffon took another step as he spoke, keeping his voice leveled despite how his eyes narrowed as the seconds rolled on. "Loreon would be just as vicious to anyone if it were me in danger because that's what he's supposed to do." Speaking of Loreon, where was he? The lion had came to greet him when he returned and was nowhere inside the pavilion. "Loreon put a stop to the wolf and so it should end there." Nymeria was the only one he could protect in this situation. She was the only he was sure of that did the right thing regardless of what anyone had said. The wolf had never been wild since he known her.

The glare Cersei conjured was harsh but he would withstand it. It wouldn't be the first time his mother resented his choices and it wouldn't be the last. "I don't care about the damn wolf," Robert spat with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It didn't harm him, so there's no reason to punish it. All these damn animals are giving me a headache anyway. Direwolves and lions, why not a cat or a dog? A _real_ pet."

Around his waist were a pair of skinny arms, clutching onto him tightly. His blue eyes looked down at Arya, who had no intention of releasing him just yet. "Thank you," she murmured. Steffon placed a hand on her head before lifting his gaze to meet the heated looks of both his mother and brother due to the interaction between him and the Stark girl.

* * *

 **A/N** : You know, I never read a story where the assassin _doesn't_ die. I promised changes and I'm gonna deliver. Also, this chapter is the longest one yet and that's because I want Steffon in King's Landing by the next one.

I was really tempted to have Jon join Steffon's kingsguard but the massive hell that would've became of the Night's Watch convinced me not to. They definitely need him because the chaos I would have to explain of how the order completely fell apart without him is overwhelming. Also, let's be real, Sam probably would've died without Jon and I'm _just_ not having that.

The Mikaelson Cupcake: Thank you! I can promise that it won't be a tragedy for them. I have it in me to do it, except I just can't find myself able to go through with it.

PsychoBeachGirl88: Thank you! I adore writing them. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

minnie2015: Thank you!

Wombat8: It wouldn't be realistic girl-talk if they didn't ask because to be fair, I'm totally Isolde in that situation. I'm glad you find that endearing, and I'm more of a fan of instant attraction than romance because that's way easier for me to write. Honestly, I can imagine Cersei smothering Robert with a pillow in the middle of the night. I don't think she would've made it as far as she did if she had to sleep next to him every night. :))) I'm glad you didn't ignore that because I always do everything for a reason. Jon is getting all the time he can until he gone for a long, long while. I can't say, even though I technically did in that little note. Lol. I think with people like Robert, Cersei and Tywin in your family, it is easy to see what power does to people and you're setting yourself up to become the same if you follow in their footsteps. His parents are unhappy with each different take on what it means to be powerful. So I'm trying to show that Steffon should know what he wants and what can happen if he's not careful. It's funny because Varys and Daenerys basically talked about that in the newest season. What a coincidence. I had almost written that out... I'm glad I kept it, though. Calla's little victories until she joins the war should be acknowledged. Oh, ho, ho. That's the thing. Did someone see her? Did Jaime see her? We don't know. :) I never knew how much I loved writing Cersei and Steffon's dynamic until that last chapter. It's always easy to say that they love or hate each other, but there's no hate at all between them. And I don't know writing Cersei feeling vulnerable over her relationship with her son is so natural to me. I mean, I guess because the story she told Cat about the baby that died inspires me too much in what if the little boy had lived. Maybe nobody in the North knew how to make a wheelchair until now, I guess. Lmao. I have so much in store for Steff in King's Landing and it's killing me that I'm not there yet. There's so much to do and I hate how slow I am. That's technically it, but it's likely he has inherited some very bad traits too. Who knows, maybe he admires certain terrible things too. I'm giving you the run around now. Your reviews are amazing. Seriously. I always look forward to them.

The King in White: Thank you! You know, I honestly think it's because this story is a bit of an overused plot. Some most people are like, "Should I trust this?" and most fics with this premise have been abandoned, too. Lol.

Beloved Daughter: Thank you! c: I hoped you enjoyed everything so far.


	10. Wayward Schemes

_**STEFFON**_

Only a fool would assume that what happened at the Trident would be left forgotten. And while Steffon wasn't foolish enough to think so, a part of him did childishly have a yen for obliviousness. It was more than hypocritical on his part to want to be unaware and paint better images of those around him. How could he even want naiveté when he often scolded his twin for not being leery enough? It likely boiled down to the very fact that the comfort one is given from shielding your eyes from the faults of those you loved had quite the charm. After all, it took Steffon a long time to want to acknowledge the kind of person that his mother truly was.

He discovered at a young age that his mother did not let matters go quietly. She hardly ever abandoned her displeasure, even more so when the outcome was what she considered none to be desired. And while she harbored many ambitions and twice as many deeply-rooted grudges, nothing incensed her more than to be outright blindsided. But even with all the mental notes Steffon pocketed over the years of how his mother moved throughout this life, she still could surprise him. Today, however, was not one of those days; where she would have him unsure, unaware, and reckless with the choices of _all_ of his actions and words.

Steffon waited with a strange patience, preparing himself for the day his mother would request an audience with him. It took her three whole days, allowing the both of them enough time to settle comfortably back into the Red Keep. Whether or not she had chose the number of days with a purpose was a mystery to him, but Steffon couldn't afford to ponder any machinations since it was best his mind was not overrun with too many thoughts. The mental gymnastics he expected to undergo was what he should focus on than trying to stay afloat in a sea of pure speculation that could easily be swam through later. He also had to assume that a lecture would follow after pointing out everything she thought he said and did wrong in the pavilion. Who would've guessed that the mockery of a trial between Joffrey and Arya Stark would do so much damage?

He walked with a leisure down the hallway, half of him illuminated by the bright and early rays of the sunlight that poured from the large and open windows. The other was dimly shadowed along with the other half of the hallway. His long strides stopped to an abrupt halt when he spotted his uncle, who was wearing his usual cold expression. "Uncle Stannis," Steffon greeted him first.

"Steffon." There was something off about the way his uncle spoke along with the way he looked at him. The answer should've been clear as day to him but unfortunately, he couldn't piece it all together quickly enough. "Ever since you've returned to the capital, you have not once showed yourself to the council meetings."

It took all the restraint the Crown Prince could muster to not to slip and curse under his breath. He had been so preoccupied with other matters, that the small council completely strayed from his mind. Had he not been so stupidly eager for his father's approval some years ago, he never would've demanded to participate in the meetings in the first place. Not only were they tedious, but just about everything he suggested was constantly overruled by the actions of his father. Expenses were always put to waste and the debt the crown owed to his grandfather steadily climbed. Steffon thought it to be a sorry sight of what became of the treasury. It was even more disheartening to know that his father blatantly didn't care. "Did you think that once your sister was gone, you would be given leeway to be careless of your responsibilities?"

"I have not spent these past three days idly, Uncle." It wasn't a good excuse, he knew, but neither was it a lie. The means to defend himself was somewhat slim to none right about now. And with the way things were going, Steffon couldn't outright inform his uncle of everything that he was scheming. The fault would all be on him if everything wasn't protected nor rightfully in their places. He worked too hard, battled with his heart and his head many of nights, for everything to just slip between his fingers like sand.

The look his uncle sent his way was a wary one, though the Crown Prince knew straight away that he would not be questioned… At least for now. He liked to believe that his lord uncle trusted him enough to know that he would not remain in the dark for very long. "Has our new Hand adjusted well?" Steffon decided to ask, curious to know if Ned Stark had become fully aware of the mess he was forced to clean up.

Stannis' was not a man who indulged in humor and he more than often not told Steffon that constantly seeking for laughs was unbecoming of a future king. But even someone as frigid as him could also see that watching Ned Stark fumble about and trying to ascertain if Robert purposely made a mess of things was something worth the watch. "He has yet to understand that Robert was never fit to rule." His uncle's answer was more than enough insight, and Steffon couldn't help but to snort and shake his head out of amusement and pity.

"Will you lend your hand?" Steffon inquired, more than curious of the answer. "Surely you will not sit by and watch the man drown." It was no secret that his uncle felt slighted that Robert would rather Eddard be his Hand than him, his own brother. Not to mention that Stannis never quite got over being made lord of Dragonstone while Renly was made to keep their Baratheon ancestral home of Storm's End. Why such a thing caused the rift to become greater than before was something Steffon, himself, never truly understood.

"You say that as if I have a choice," was Stannis' rather dry reply. "Irregardless, I expect you to attend today's council meeting. Take care of your other matters before then." And with that, his uncle proceeded down the hall and Steffon was left to suffer with the echoes of an oncoming headache. A premonition of what today was going to consist of left him feeling weary before it all officially started.

After a rather rough massage to his temples, he continued his way to his mother's chambers without further delay. Entry was immediately granted as soon as he neared the doors, alerting him that his mother's patience was likely already hanging by a string. Steffon cautiously stepped into her large room, his head slightly bowed to give the effect that he was utterly apologetic for his late arrival. "You took your time," his mother said with an edge to her voice.

"Uncle Stannis had some words for me," he answered honestly. "I was reminded that my absence at the small council meetings was neither unnoticed nor to be further tolerated."

Her ire calmed some, or so it would seem. She unclenched her jaw and her eyes were no longer narrowed as she signaled for him to take a seat opposite of her at the small table. Steffon ambled to a chair, keeping his back straight and shoulders squared as he took the time to study the expression she now wore. So far, she wasn't _too_ crossed with him but then again, she had the habit of changing faces relatively fast. "I suppose you know why I wanted to see you," Cersei began as she laced her fingers together as her elbows were propped by the golden arms of her chair. That was the pose she frequently took on before an intense interrogation, especially when she canted her head.

"In all honesty, I'm not too sure as to why I was called here, Mother." He decided to play dumb or at least innocently unaware. He knew a good bit of why she was angry but he wouldn't let her know that he knew. "I almost thought you wanted to see me simply because you missed my face," he quipped with the slightest of smiles. For a moment, the corners of her mouth twitched upward but in the end, she opted to keep a straight face. Humoring her did him no favors.

"Don't bother to change the conversation with your wit," her warning was spoken with a motherly sharpness. "What you did at the Trident truly surprised me. How could you side with the Starks before your own brother? Your _blood_. Where was your loyalty, Steffon?" Part of him had at least thought she would dance around it for a bit. By her diving into the conversation headfirst as if time was of the essence only made light to him that she was seriously furious over what transpired.

"I did not side with the Starks," replied Steffon rather hastily. "I simply didn't think it necessary for the wolf to die is all."

"The beast was going to kill your brother and yet you thought it should live," Cersei further elaborated. "Tell me how that is not showing loyalty to the Starks before your family?"

"Whatever it was that Nymeria planned to do to Joffrey doesn't matter. Loreon put a stop it and so the matter should end there." He did his best to keep his tone one note or else it would only prove her point. If he showed any emotion over the matter, he was as good as done here. "The wolves were forced back into the wilderness, was that not enough?" He could still hear Sansa's cries over being made to part with Lady. At least the beast was alive, but surely it was painful to think she'd never lay eyes on her direwolf again. Arya had did her best not to openly weep, though her tears weren't hard to miss. She did not cry only about her wolf, though. She also shed her tears for the butcher's son that met a bloody end by the Hound's blade. All because Steffon had arrived much too late.

"You even know the beast's name," scoffed Cersei. " _Nymeria_ , as if it holds grace to carry such a name."

"Past grievances should be abandoned," Steffon spoke with little to no hope that his mother would even consider any of what he said. It couldn't harm him to try, though. "Joanna has married into their family thus making them ours. We are better off getting along than letting small matters continue to separate us."

His words made her fall into infuriated silence. The heat that emanated off her was stronger than the glare she sent. With a swipe of her golden goblet, she thought to ease her ire with a drink. It was still half full of Dornish red before she downed it with her face pinched as if the wine itself was painstakingly bitter. His mother was growing to have quite the penchant for wine as of late, though Steffon didn't bother to make light of it. She would more than berate him for even remotely comparing her to his drunkard of a father. "I would never betray our family, Mother." There was truth in what he said and he had hoped that she believed him to be genuine. "But we cannot think everyone as an enemy or else such thoughts will become true."

"Everyone _is_ an enemy, Steffon." Seeing her so firm in her beliefs had him unsure of what to do with himself. Part of him wanted to smile due to the fact that she remained so easy to predict and yet, he wanted to frown at the likely possibility of a continuous strain between families that would only become worse before it got better. The Starks, whilst cautious, was at least courteous enough to try. They tried and all they had gotten was _this_ in return. His mother and brother would rather worsen what could at least be soothed. "The sooner you come to understand that, the better."

"Do you remember what I once told you?" The tone of her voice became honeyed, almost to the point that seemed whatever she was going to say would actually be genuine since she spoke it softly. That was the tone she often sought to use to convince him of behaving a certain way or doing what she could not. "How you must never let others believe that Joffrey is weak."

"That isn't my duty anymore, Mother." He hadn't meant to say it. These were supposed to be just words meant for his head but somehow, they slipped through his mouth without hesitancy. He said it and she heard him. There was no going back now. "It always leads back to him, doesn't it?" Try as he might, Steffon could still feel fragments of the boy he used to be that was so spiteful and envious of his mother's blatant favoritism. She doted on Joffrey even more than Tommen, and Tommen was still a half a baby. Not once had she showered Steffon with the same level of affection.

But he did not want that anymore. He couldn't be bothered with a fretting mother at this age, though part of him still yearned for some acknowledgement that she cared enough for him to at the very least worry. But to want that was childish as well as harmful for all that he was meant to do. To become the king he is meant to be. Despite himself, Steffon was still human and it was only natural to crave such things. "I am your son, too."

He didn't have the heart to look at her. He somehow felt afraid to even so much as chance a glance of the expression she wore now. His eyes remained averted as he clambered to his feet, becoming full of his will to escape from this conversation. The Crown Prince stood at full height, keeping to the pace that gave next to nothing away. He already bared too much, little as it was. "Steffon," she pleaded as if she had now only realized her mistake.

Because his pride mattered more, Steffon said nothing more and swiftly left without once looking back.

 _ **JOANNA**_

The light of day had drained away without her noticing. Gone was the sunlight for it gave way to the velvety darkness of a moonless night. All that was left to illuminate her bedchambers was the fires of the hearth and the flickering, little flame of a candlelight. Though small, it served her well from where she was. It allowed her to read without any difficulty, but to write? Well, that had been a problem that no matter how bright her chambers were that could not easily be remedied. Joanna had kept on with her duties, fully aware that she was needed now more than ever after the near assassination attempt that occurred three nights ago. Since then, her good-mother remained in her featherbed. She was still deep in a what was likely a medicine induced slumber. The milk of the poppy was only supposed to numb all possible pain from Maester Luwin's needle as he stitched her wounds. However, Lady Stark had not opened her eyes since she drank the potion and Joanna could only surmise that the weight of all that has happened thus far stressed her so much to sleep so heavily.

The state of her was worrisome but nothing could be done. Perhaps it was the reality of it all that made everything worse. And to take turns watching her and Bran sleep was a heartache within itself. Along with the stress of Bran's life being threatened twice, Joanna was meant to deal with the fact that his condition and the story of his fall slipped out of the confines of Winterfell and traveled throughout the North. Because of this, she had spent hours sitting at Robb's desk and reading letter after letter of sincerest condolences from every lord and lady of the North. It was left to her to write to them and this proved more difficult than Joanna could ever imagine it to be. She was newly a wife, of the South, and so she fretted and struggled to write with the familiarity and the warmth that only Lady Stark could write in gratitude to them.

Along with those fears, the thought to make it known that she was the one reading and writing in her stead proved troublesome. Surely the North's men and women would think it insulting as well as presumptuous if she dared to sign her name, wouldn't they? How could she give thanks of their affections from their concerns for their lord and lady's family? And if she removed herself to sign it as Lady Stark, would they not notice if not from the difference of handwriting but by her choice of words as well? Her mind continuously agonized and created a hundred different ways of how all of this could possibly go wrong. Her fears took on a physical form as a mountain of crumpled up parchments on the floor at her feet. She hadn't finished a single letter. Not a one.

The anxiety of it all nearly made her cry hot, angry tears of pure frustration. Along with her desire to tear, the anxiety strengthened the desire to run home. It grew strongest at day and now no longer weakened in resolve at night. She thought about it, heavily, of slipping away like a thief in the night to the stables. She'll climb on a horse, ride to the nearest harbor and sail back to King's Landing. She wanted to pretend that these last few months were some bizarre dream that came from eating too many sugary sweets before bed. By morning, she would share it all with Steffon and he'd laugh and ask her if she had become a madwoman overnight. How could any girl feel joy after marrying a stranger and then within the same month, his little brother is forcefully pushed and teeters on the tightrope of life and death? Then the month after, he is nearly assassinated once more and so is his mother by the dagger of some cutthroat.

How was Joanna not supposed to feel afraid, sad, lonely and angry? How was she not meant to feel desperate for it all not to be real? And yet, for some strange reason, a great part of her felt ashamed for allowing her homesickness to worsen. It made her feel sick for wanting to run away from all this when she was needed here. She must mend and make do; tend and comfort. She must do the things she knows she can, for her duty comes before her heavy and weary heart, she knows. Robb, Lady Stark, and Rickon were all suffering and they were now her family. And if there was one thing Joanna had never condoned, it was turning her back on her family whenever they were of need of her.

Soon enough, Joanna heard the door open and her eyes groggily left the desk to look up at her furious lord husband and his direwolf. He took out his ire on the door by slamming it shut with both hands. After that, he started to pace the room, his gloved fingers roughly raking his riot of auburn curls. Grey Wind had joined a sleeping Calla by the hearth in a very exhausted manner. The wolf shared the same defeat as his master but proved to be too tucked out to continue to give a show of his frustration. She could only gather that this was another night that Robb returned to bed with nothing; no sliver of a motive nor any information from the man he had been interrogating all night and day. How irksome it must be having to keep that man alive after he nearly murdered your brother and mother.

"He still refuses to speak?" Joanna asked, hoping to not regret asking. She couldn't bear with the silence, however. It was much too frightening to sit and pretend she did not see his anger nor his pain despite her lack of understanding in how to properly console him at this time. How could she possibly reassure him all will be well when things only kept continued to become worse?

"Oh, he _speaks_." The reply was said dryly and coated with sarcasm as he slowed his pacing to a stop. "He'd rather taunt me than betray the man who hired him."

That could only mean that whoever purchased his services was more than likely powerful. Someone who he would more than regret outing. No person is that loyal to not be fearful of hurting a Stark without feeling secured. "Did you…" Joanna paused for a moment. "Did you torture him?"

"Ser Rodrik didn't trust me to," Robb admitted rather reluctantly.

"Do you trust yourself to?" Her husband had gone rigid at her question and she nearly wished never asked.

"No," he replied quietly and honestly. "I don't."

The sigh that escaped Robb was a heavy one, like he had held it in all day and only found solace to relinquish it now. It was worrisome to know that he was accumulating so much stress, but what could she say and do to alleviate any of it? No words came to mind, unfortunately. When she chanced to look at him again, he was already down to his loose tunic and sleeping trouser and making his way to the hearth where the wolf and lion lie.

"Sit with me?" His sudden request surprised and unnerved her. Even so, she left the desk and went towards him with no semblance of refusal. Joanna smoothed down her silk nightgown and lowered herself to the floor, feeling welcomed by the comfort of the fire. Silence eddied itself between them, though it wasn't as awkward as it usually was. Robb, however, had seen to it that it wouldn't last. "You must think Winterfell as some nightmare after these last few months," he began, his expression beyond difficult to read. He looked as if he knew not whether to laugh or frown. And if he had chosen laughter, it would certainly lack mirth to it. "I don't fault you if you do."

"Winterfell is no nightmare, Robb." Joanna could absolutely believe that Winterfell had only known peace and quiet unlike the Red Keep where secrets, murder, sex and intrigue were a normal and everyday occurrence. She hadn't missed any of those things whenever she thought of home. In fact, those were the few things she was glad to be free of. "I imagine that all of this is more than surprising and troubling for you than it is for me." After all, Robb had a rather happy homelife with a close knit family that loved one another deeply and openly. Everything seemed well until she and her family arrived, it would seem.

"None of it makes any sense." Robb turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowing in his confusion. "Who could be so adamant on killing Bran like this? What could he possibly have done to warrant them to kill him? He's only a child."

That was the real mystery. Why was Bran's life so highly sought after? It all started on the day he was pushed from the tower during the last hunt. The tower, that man, and Bran were all connected and Joanna couldn't piece it together no matter how hard and how long she thought on it. "Has anyone searched the tower?"

"My father sent a few of our guards there after you told us that he was pushed," he explained. "They found nothing."

There should be no doubt in her mind that they had been thorough in their investigation. No stone left unturned. No crook or cranny overlooked. The ugly reality was that there was no clue left behind and so hope shouldn't be gathered. "Of course," Joanna mumbled. "Things are never that easy."

"No," murmured Robb, sharing her disappointment. "They never are." Her eyes traveled down to look at her hands as she began to fiddle with her fingers. "I never did thank you for saving my mother and Bran." Surprised, she perked up her head and turned to face him to find that he was unapologetically staring. "This is the second time you were there for Bran when I should've been."

He enjoys blaming himself, thought Joanna. Robb was stubbornly, and almost vehemently, responsible when it came to things out of his control. Very few men would take on more burdens when there was plenty already on his shoulders. Does he not feel weary? Does he not tire of thinking he must do everything? How does he continue to stand when he is in desperate need of rest? "You shouldn't be thanking me," she quickly countered. "I did what I should for they are my family, too. It's my duty to protect them."

His smile didn't look as it was meant for her, but only for himself. "Of all the things you do…" he started to say. "Is it always of out of duty? Do you ever give in to doing whatever it is that _you_ like?"

"Some desires are meant to be ignored," she told him plainly with a slight cant of her head. "And other times, duty and desire align."

"You haven't answered the question," Robb pursued the matter, though not as pressingly as he could.

"I did," Joanna teased him with a wry smile. "You're just too tired to understand."

"Maybe so." Robb's sudden grin proved to be enough to let her believe that she was somehow able to amuse him despite how tired he was. It was what she wanted, to allow him to clear his mind if only by a kind minute or so. He gathered himself to his feet and made his way to the bed, only to stop and stare at what she had meant to clean up. "What happened here?"

"Well…" Embarrassed and utterly unsure how to explain that what he was seeing were a dozen or so failures. "I was meant to reply to all the letters of condolences. People have learned of what happened to Bran," Joanna tried to say very lightly, "but only of his fall. They know nothing of the cutthroat."

A solemn look swept across his face, though his eyes gleamed with what she could guess was curiosity. He reached for one crumpled parchment and read what was surely only a few, nonsensical sentences. He read with such a look of seriousness that she began to instantly fear his response. "You're trying too hard," he gathered. "There's no warmth."

His response confirmed what she had already thought, sadly enough. Joanna's shoulders sagged and her frown deepened. "I worried that if I lacked formality, they would find me arrogant. But if I were too formal, I'd further distance myself."

"In the North, respect is earned." She gathered as much. You could not buy respect north of the Neck as you could south of it. "Very few lords show friendliness and you saw for yourself that many of them are stiff as ironwood. My mother always tested the waters when dealing with any of them. So I'm afraid you won't know anything if you don't try." That was the way of people, wasn't it? Though it was harder to learn of someone through a measly letter than to see and talk to them face-to-face. How could she come to understand any of them through a page's worth of words?

"And how am I supposed to figure them out through only a letter?" she asked.

"Have you actually _read_ any of the letters?" Within an instant, her face began to heat up. She quickly stood and crossed over to him, just to pick up a letter at random. The first she had picked up was from the Greatjon Umber. Though his words were somber, he tried to lessen the sadness with some humor. The next she picked up was from Lord Cerwyn, who chose to console by making light that Starks always find a way to endure and grow despite their difficult trials. Robb had been right. If she had notice these subtle ways of knowing the lords in question, she might've had an easier time.

"I'm the biggest fool in Westeros," she mumbled.

"I wouldn't say the biggest…" Feeling slighted, Joanna furrowed her brows and shot him a glare.

"Says the one who is hardly any good at measly sums," Joanna said tightly, trying not to snap her words at him.

He blinked twice, his eyes widening in shock. Only a minute had passed before Joanna began to realize her mistake. "Are you… angry with me?" he asked, and she wasn't sure of his level of anger.

"My apologies, I hadn't meant—" He wouldn't let her finish before turned his head to laugh. "What is so funny?" Now she was beginning to become truly agitated. Why was her sudden show of anger humorous?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He waved his hands, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as his laughter didn't seem to be nearing an end. "It's just…" Barely able to breathe, he doubled over. "It's just I never seen you so angry before or at all, really."

Unsure of why such a thing would create such a reaction, Joanna did her best not to cross her arms. "Would you rather me cross with you?" slowly asked the Baratheon.

Finally, he calmed himself and stood upright. "No, never. I have no desire to have you cross with me but… It's just, well…" He was smiling still and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Her husband was acting quite strange and she couldn't understand why. "I like you better this way."

"You like me when I am...angry?" Her eyes were now squint in confusion and her mind didn't bother to trouble itself with trying to understand all on its own.

"I like you better when you are yourself," said Robb. "Not Lady Joanna or the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. You're just… you." His explanation had made her realize just how careful she had been these past few months. She tried to think twice before she spoke (although she failed plenty of times whenever she was able to spend time with him alone) and she tried her best to make sure that she made no mistake in whatever it was that she did. She strove for perfection as it was taught to her and only kept her thoughts and emotions buried away. The fear to present any reason for him or his family to mislike her was forever present.

Part of her wanted to give into the meek, comforting feeling that danced around her. Though the other part wanted her to remain resolute. "I never meant to be so cautious with you." Joanna curled and uncurled her fingers, forbidding herself to fiddle with them as she normally would have. "But I'll be more of myself, if you so desire it."

His hand took her left one and he held it firmly. "I would rather you desire that as well, Joanna." Did she? Did she want to be herself around him? Did she want to remain unguarded and constantly speak from the heart than as expected? What if he didn't care for her true self? The real Joanna who cries fairly easily. The one who likes to steal treats from the kitchen and hide them in her room to eat late at night. The one who is vain and likes to look pretty and will not leave her room if one hair is out of place. The one who is easily offended at any sudden jabs made towards her, teasingly or not. The one who is frightened of stupid stories of grumpkins and demons in the dark. The one who only feels truly happy when she is able to please those around her.

"I… do." The words left her rather timidly yet she meant them. The firelight of the hearth flickered wildly across his face, making his eyes that were like ice beneath a Winter's sun burn like hot cinders at the moment. Unlike a moth that is said to be entranced, she proved different. This moth challenged the fire to burn it, if it can. There was no resistance that Joanna wanted to succumbed to in efforts to look away from him. "I hope you don't regret this."

In return, Robb gave her no words. Instead, he gifted her an unwavering smile that cooled down the heat of her fears and planted excitement of the days to come.

 ** _EDDARD_**

To say he was overwhelmed would be more than an understatement. The state of the Seven Kingdoms, more so of its capital than everywhere else, was a mess beyond repair. It would take more than this lifetime he had left to fix a good portion of what was already near ruin. How Robert expected him to quickly understand all he was meant to do while coming into this ill-prepared and essentially blind was truly beyond Ned's comprehension. He, and the small council, were but a few men and yet their responsibilities were all too great. He wondered for days how Jon Arryn even attempted to make do, for it seemed nothing short of a miracle's kindness. Ned wanted to be just as surprised as he was perplexed about all of this, but his shock wouldn't keep residence. He always knew that Robert was not perfect for the throne but he was a grieving, tired man who was battleworn at the time. He fought save his family only to return with only Jon Snow.

Aside from all of the capital's problems, the council itself was a bizarre combination of people. Varys, Petyr Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, Stannis and Renly Baratheon were all men of such strikingly various stances on life and were all very vocal of their opposing opinions. They hardly ever agreed and if they did, it was mostly because one was outnumbered. And the Crown Prince? He was only ever silent, showing no effort to speak an opinion because he only wished to observe. Ned supposed it was a good thing that the boy willingly took audience, but it seemed wrong in a way that he sat in the chair where his father's should be. Robert was never politically savvy and often left such the swing of things to Jon Arryn. Steffon proved different than his father in that regard, which led Ned to believe that was one saving grace for the future of the Seven Kingdoms. How the boy faired in other matters? Ned was entirely unsure.

Today's meeting left him with no determination to sit an hour more. He wished wished to be elsewhere, preferably in his tower since he could not be where he really wanted to be. Ned felt no amusement of Robert's need to have a tourney in his honor as the new Hand. He did not want it, especially not in the expense of making the crown's debt any greater. He had every intention of talking some sense into Robert, but Renly reminded him what kind of man that the king and his best friend was. Robert always saw to it to have things go his way, and he would do whatever means necessary to get what he so desired.

"Forgive me, My Lords and Prince." How he had the voice to speak despite how fatigued he was surprised him. "I am tired," Ned annouced. "Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher."

He then stood, hardly waiting for any of them to agree. As the sound of the feet of the chairs scraped against the floors, Ned noticed that Prince Steffon remained unmoving. "Lord Stark, if I may?"

Inquisitive, Ned used the corners of his eyes to take a glance at each of the council's faces after hearing the prince's sudden request. It was obvious they were interested but because he did not ask for any of them to stay, they begrudgingly tore their eyes away and continued on their way towards the door. Some moved slower than others, hoping to catch just one sound of the conversation yet Steffon purposely remained quiet. When the last man of the small council was out the door, Ned gave the boy a nod. "What troubles you, Prince Steffon?" he asked.

"A great many things trouble me, Lord Stark." The joking smile he displayed reminded Ned of Renly than it had Robert. The three of them looked far too much alike to begin with; all Baratheon and none else. "But I'll only trouble you with one matter." He leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and his fingers steepled with his smile long gone. "Trust when I say that nobody is more disappointed at the state of the treasury than I."

"I suspect you talked your father before?" He didn't need a nod or a shake of his head. Eddard knew, for a fact, that Robert heard suggestions and chose to ignore them. "I'm well aware of the difficulty of convincing your father to do much of anything."

"Then I'm sure that you know firsthand how troubled Lord Arryn was." In his mind's eye, he could imagine all the faces Jon Arryn had likely worn when his words fell upon deaf ears. But Robert was no longer his ward but his liege, and he had no power to stop him from making terrible decisions. Now Ned was in the same position and could only move as much as being the Hand would allow him. "You shouldn't concern yourself with it."

"You know a way of ending the crown's debt, don't you?" Eddard asked. No one would avert their eyes on a matter this large unless they knew how to fix it.

The corners of Steffon's lips quirked upwards in wry smile. "All that I ask of you, Lord Stark, is that you not worry about it and let my father do what he will in regards to the treasury. Nothing you say will change his mind and if you even so much as make a dent in the debt, he'll make you regret doing so."

"You would rather I do nothing? Unless this is your way of informing me that you mean to wait until you're crowned to tackle it." Robert had mentioned that, very subletely and briefly, of how he'd step down from the throne and leave for Essos. He hadn't said it outright to him because he likely knew that Eddard would question of why he would let a boy of seventeen rule when he could wait until he was at least twenty. Steffon seemed well-adjusted enough and was practically a man-grown, but it is a terrible thing to waste youth for that uncomfortable chair so many have vied for.

"It sounds wrong, doesn't it?" Steffon had asked, almost as if he had been pondering if it was the right decision for quite some time. "After all I have done so far up until this point, I can't see myself going back."

"And how do you mean to go about it?"

"I only have six million gold dragons of my own," Steffon replied. "Enough to pay the debt but none left to fill the treasury. For the past three years, I became an investor of a different name and bought a few shares of brothels and inns. I even bought two trading ships of which I now fully own after buying out my partners. I could pay my grandfather the three million he is owed, the million borrowed from the High Septon, and the million loan from the Iron Bank and the lesser amount to the Tyrosh," he continued. "But to the Tyrells… if I marry Lord Mace's daughter, he'll forgive the debt and I'll have enough within the treasury to keep it well-off until I can have it flowing again."

It was after that explanation that Ned now understood Robert's trust in his son. The throne was not looked at with glory, but with an understanding of how heavy and how great the responsibilities that came with it. The amount of work and effort, the calculating and consideration as well as the gamble of what might prove successful or not was something many might've not gone so far to do for the crown but only for themselves. The Lannister in him was not so strong, or so Ned chose to believe. "So you have chosen the Tyrell girl as a wife because of this?"

"It was either her or the Princess Arianne," said the prince. "I wanted to entertain the idea of marriage to Dorne to see where the Martells loyalty lie due to some very interesting rumors."

Eddard had assumed that the Martells would turn their backs on the Targaryens after what Rhaegar had done, but their hatred must've fueled more for the Lannisters because of the tragedy that became of Elia and her children. Their hatred was just, Ned had thought. Even he had turned his back on Robert of what was said at sight of the small corpses he could never burn the memory of. "How will you gain insight of the Martells if you decide not to promise the position of queen to them?"

"I have yet to figure that out," Steffon admitted earnestly.

"I doubt they'll attend a Hand's tourney," Eddard gathered. "But I do not discourage the idea of sending an invitation."

"I want to say that it wasn't my intention to disturb your day with political follies, but I'm sure you are aware that the tourney will be filled with many plots."

"It wouldn't be King's Landing if the day isn't to be ruined with machinations." The prince then chuckled with little mirth, leaving Ned to wonder what more the South would throw at him before the year's end.

 _ **JOANNA**_

The chill of the damp air wrapped itself around her, resting itself on her shoulders twice as heavy as the cloak Robb gifted her. Though this place was not as frightening as the crypts were, it still climbed itself high on the list Joanna mentally made of places in Winterfell she would never willingly choose to be. Her mind fervently drifted to him throughout the days since the fire and assassination attempt. Her mind wouldn't voluntarily vault it all and allow her continue her day. It had gotten to a point where she felt as if she was without any other choice than to come here and confront him.

Aside from her discomfort of this particular part of Winterfell, it did not feel half as suffocating as her good-mother chambers. The woman slept deeply for three whole days without once moving from her spot. After the second day, whenever someone entered the room, they were stricken with anxiety at once. Joanna couldn't find it within her to enter the room again, having felt too frightened to think that Lady Stark might never open her eyes again. And the thought became so easy to believe when Bran remained in his sickroom in the same state since his fall.

Her pace was slow and each step she had taken to descend down the spiraling staircase was featherlight. Not only must she have a care for her steps, Joanna had to be twice as cautious with the torch in her left hand. The dungeons of Winterfell were purposely left dim, giving off a strange essence of a constant twilight within. The look and feel, along with who she was about to see, should've needled some fear into her heart. And yet, she couldn't find herself feeling the faintest bit of afraid. After risking her life in efforts to save her good-mother, the fear she harbored of the cutthroat was now no more. It made more sense for her to fear Robb suddenly waking and piecing together that she waited until he drifted into the deepest part of slumber in order to come here without him knowing. She couldn't find it within herself to be so foolish to believe that Robb would ever approve of her being down here on her own or even at all.

Had it been only her imagination or was it suddenly colder than it was before? Goosebumps rose up on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand. After adjusting her cloak, Joanna shook her head to rid herself of her sudden storm of paranoid thoughts in order to keep a clear conscious. As she neared the last cell, the sound of manacles made her limbs stiff despite being too vigilant about going anywhere but forward. Having found the man she had been seeking, the fire from her torch gave her enough light to clearly see the man's face. He looked different than he had all those night ago. He wasn't really in the picture of health than when she first laid eyes on him. He somehow managed to look utterly terrible in such little time.

As soon as the light of the flame rested upon him, he squinted and raised an arm to shield his eyes. She supposed sitting here in the semi-darkness for so many days made the sudden brightness uncomfortable and hard to suddenly adjust to. Joanna, however, did not feel any yen of kindness to accommodate him whatsoever. "I did not come here to torture you," Joanna began, slowly bending her knees so that they could be of the same eye level.

An insignificant part of her—the vanity of a former pampered princess—had begun to worry over the mice skittering around the floors. By the Seven, if they touched her or even skimmed across her dress, she probably wouldn't be able to keep herself from screaming. And once she was done here, she would burn the gown in the hearth immediately. Because it was such a sudden and stupid thing to suddenly worry about, Joanna fought to oppress it all by forcing herself to completely focus on the matter at hand.

"Then why…" The man's voice was scratchy and dry. If she had thought this over a little bit more, she could've bribed him much more swiftly with some water. "Why come t'see me?"

"I have a proposal for you." Joanna remained calm. As calm as she could be at the very least. She desperately tried to channel her mother, trying to search for the strength the Lannister queen would've had if she met with a man that threatened her family. In reality, her mother wouldn't have asked. He would've been dead and the knowledge he knew would be gone with him. "I think you'll like what I have to offer to be much better than the treatment my lord husband has given you." A glimmer of interest flashed across his eyes, and she thanked the Seven that she could conjure that thus far.

"I have come to realize that you are no amateur. You've sufficiently infiltrated Winterfell completely unnoticed and that is quite unheard," gathered the Baratheon. "And I suppose you thought to flee for your life and purposely leave the dagger behind. Was that not your plan?" When Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik were inspecting it in the corner of Lady Catelyn's chambers, she had overheard Rodrik's interest of how expensive the weapon seemed to be. She hadn't thought much about it until she began to think of who could likely afford such a fine dagger. Her family was wealthy and they were the only ones to know of Bran's fall before the rest of the North. Her suspicions grew and kept growing until she was no longer content to only speculate. "But since you've been caught due to my interference, you must still hold hope for freedom. I will not lie and promise you that you will have it. I can, however, give you the mercy of a kinder death with a drink of sweetsleep. My husband wants your head but he will not take it until you tell him what he wants to know."

"Why should I agree on yer terms?" he questioned after two heartbeats of quiet. "Better t' have my head lopped off the shoulders than t' end it all on my own."

"You're willing to endure more torture?" she inquired incredulously. "I'm giving you the gift to die in sleep along with me compensating your family. You must have some… People tend to do the worst of things to keep those they love fed and safe." All his muscles seemed to tense and nothing moved except for his eyes. "All I want is for you to tell me who hired you and I will make sure that your family is well-off for the rest of their lives."

"I'm s'ppse t' believe that?" he snarled. Was he annoyed or was he afraid? Joanna had no inkling of how he must feel. "All you nobles are all the same. Yeh use us and then throw us away when ya want to keep yer pretty names clean. You ain't no better than the rest o' us."

His words had somehow cut and she felt ashamed. He was right, wasn't he? She was willing to kill him based on the faintest of idea that her family might've been involved in Bran's near assassination and possibly his fall. "I am selfish, I know. I care for who I care for and no one more." Her eyes of green remained staring at the floor because she felt much too guilty to look the man in the eyes now. He was terrible for taking gold to kill a child, but she was not so clean either now. "But I promise to take care of your family. It would hurt me more to know that children and their mother would die for the sins of another."

He became quiet again, letting the emotions winding up in her simmer. "How will ya do it?" asked the cutthroat.

"Three drops of the sleep draught in your broth." Joanna soon lifted her eyes to gander at him, only to find his eyes were closed as he contemplated. How difficult it must be to decide to die. And yet he was so calm, not hysterical like most would be. Perhaps the realization hadn't hit him yet or maybe death was something he already knew awaited him once he had been caught.

"Rosby." She assumed it to the be the village where his family lived. That was the only Rosby she knew of since it was in the Crownlands. "Give the gold to Ella. She has a daughter named Millie and two boys, Gavin and Finnick." Joanna simply nodded, understanding that even the most empathetic of words might annoy him. He did not want her empathy, he only wanted a promise. A promise before death that could ease the fear. "I don't remember much 'bout that night. I only remember that Clegane came to me, said that Prince Joffrey had gold dragons if I was willing."

"J-Joffrey?" Her heart, she thought, was snapping in two. Sandor only followed the orders of Joffrey, who thought himself so self-important that he must have a personal bodyguard and not a knight of the Kingsguard. The man lived up to the name people called him; the Hound. It was only given due to how dutiful he was, so much so that her own pride at times quaked with how he was so beside himself to fulfill what was expected of him from her brother. Joanna couldn't understand it, though. Why Joffrey? Why would he hire a man to kill Bran? She had prayed to the Mother to not let it be her family that was involved, but her gut's suspicions were unfortunately founded.

What was she to say? Her mind couldn't formulate a stringent enough thought and all she felt able to do was to question over and over only to not reach an answer. And so, feeling hurt and lost, Joanna stood and bid the man no words. He did not seek them either, keeping himself quiet as she walked down the cold and quiet aisle and towards the stairway with every step as heavy and slow as the pounding of her heart.

 _ **SANSA**_

Today was… perfect.

The kiss of Summer prolonged despite how in a matter of weeks, the leaves will fall from the trees and leave them lifeless and barren. The nights will be longer and colder. Flowers as bright as sunlight will blacken and curl at edges to prepare for what the Starks always knew was on the approach. Perhaps in King's Landing, Autumn and Winter never truly comes as it does in the North and Summer remains falsely. It certainly felt like so. Either way, Sansa's summer-born heart quickened with every glance at gold and silver surfaces that were so well polished that they shone effortlessly beneath the morning sun. The Hand's Tourney was about to begin once the knights and lords had their lances shined to perfection and horses of many different breeds were groomed until not one hair of their manes were out of place. Banners of every House imaginable above them would be raised so that they could wave in the sweet wind that came to greet them like freshly made silk caressing against the skin.

There were so many men that were partaking the joust that Sansa could hardly name them all. Girls giggled and batted their eyelashes towards any man the slightest bit of handsome while she heard Jeyne's girlish sighs as if she were not two people away. But her attention of every dream-like detail was short-lived when she felt the fidgeting of Arya. Her sister kept leaning and backwards and forwards, eyes searching every face her eyes could catch for one person in particular it seemed. "Won't you sit still, Arya?" Sansa berated her, her face feeling as hot as a hearth from her sister's normal yet stupidly peculiar behavior. She hoped no one paid attention. Sansa quietly prayed to the the Seven that they didn't.

"I'm looking for someone," Arya mumbled in a harsh tone. "Be quiet or you'll distract me."

Their father, who should've been scolding her, merely did that quiet smile of his and followed her gaze to his right. "Who is it that you're looking for, Arya?" He always entertained her wild bearings, leaving Sansa fuming that she is always the one that must always act and look so civilized. Arya possibly could not conduct herself this way forever lest she wanted to be an old, unmarried maid.

"Lady Margaery of Highgarden," her sister answered. "She's supposed to be here, or so I've heard."

Why did her sister care to look for a Tyrell? "Why do you care if she is here or not?" Sansa's curiosity had unfortunately got the best of her. "What is she to you?"

Arya tore her eyes away from the stands to meet her blue gaze. "And why do you care if I care? It has nothing to do with you."

"Arya, Sansa." That tone her father used meant to warn them that their bickering must end immediately. Sansa merely huffed, rolling her eyes away from Arya to look at the lists. _The knights_ , she thought. She only cared to see them. There was no reason to be distracted from them for the likes of her wild little sister, the same one that she had not yet forgave for what happened in the Trident. Lady being forced into the southern wilderness after being raised so proper would surely lead her to death. It had hurt her heart to think her precious direwolf must suffer because of Arya's foolishness with that butcher's boy and Nymeria beastly actions.

Sansa did not have to wait long for the jousting had begun, and she watched it all with fervor. Jory, who rode for Winterfell and the North, had managed to unhorse Horas Redwyne in his first joust and then a Frey in his second. In the third, he was met with challenge. Lothor Brune could not be moved for his lance was steadier and his blows more precise. It had come to the point where the king had to choose who had won, and he gave the victory to Lothor. Her father's other men, Alyn and Harwin, were not as strong competitors. The first tilt would see Harwin on the ground by Ser Meryn while Alyn lost to Ser Balon Swann.

The Kingslayer, Ser Jaime, seemed like a god before them all. He had suffered no loss yet, having won against Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord by the name of Bryce Caron. He had beaten them easily, though he fell when his opponent was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan the Bold. A young Vale knight had been impaled by a lance through the throat by the hands of a monstrous man called the Mountain. The lovely Ser Loras, a knight of Highgarden, had gifted her a single red rose and won against Ser Gregor. Though he nearly lost his life when the Mountain, full of rage from losing, had aimed to kill him. Fortunately, he had been thwarted by the Hound, who behaved so chivalrously and saved Loras' life.

"You must be one of her daughters," said a voice the came from behind. Sansa had turned to look at him, her blue eyes meeting shades that danced between grey and green. They had not smiled as his mouth did. "You have the Tully look."

"I'm Sansa Stark," Sansa said with wholehearted weariness. He looked as if he were some high lord and she had no inkling of his name. All she could do was take special care in not offending him and gently confirm his suspicions of who she was. "I have not had the honor, my lord."

"Sweet child," Mordane's voice immediately calmed her. "This is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the King's small council."

Baelish? Sansa thought the name familiar, perhaps her mother did speak of him once. "Your mother was my Queen of Beauty once," his voice was quiet and his eyes looked to where her father sat. Sansa felt coldness ooze out of her lord father and she herself had grown stiff with unease. "You have her hair," he said, his minty breath filling her nose and she swore the backs of his knuckles touched her face. But she felt nothing in the end and she had to ponder if she simply imagined it.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya interrupted. And while Sansa was actually grateful for her rudeness, she still had to be reprimanded.

" _Arya_!" Sansa shouted, knowing very well their mother would not have approved of such a question towards an old family friend.

"Don't be rude," chimed the Septa.

"No," Baelish said as he kept his strange smile, "it's quite alright. When I was a child, I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

The start of the new tilt had overwhelmed the conversation and Sansa tore her eyes away from Petyr and Arya for the last jousting match. A knight or lord, Sansa couldn't decipher which this person was since they had not raised the visor of their helm throughout the joust. He wore black armor, so glossy that the sunlight looked as if it danced across the intricate designs. The image of a golden thunderbolt was set into the breastplates, leaving Sansa to wonder if that was merely a design or a House sigil. Their cloak was an expensive fabric colored a deep hue of gold and danced with the wind as he turned his horse to head over to the appointed starting place.

"Who is that?" questioned Arya, her brows furrowed.

"It would seem we have a mystery knight," Baelish answered with a smirk.

Her father, Sansa noticed, tensed at the answer and his eyes glossed over with a look that was both familiar yet not. She worried, for a moment, and even dared to lay her hand on his arm to ask what was wrong, but he assuaged her worries with a hint of a smile and took hold of her hand. Her father was ever mysterious, distant and cold with seldom warmth. He always seemed to be thinking or getting himself lost in a blizzard of thoughts, but she always assumed that was within his nature. Her mother had always said so and it was all Sansa had known all her life.

Going against this unnamed knight was the Hound. The Clegane's horse steadily charged with ferocity and soon the knight in black had thrust his mare into action. They flew at each other and before Sansa could properly blink, they lowered their lances almost at once just to have them tangle and shatter. Neither had fallen, they were both astride their horses and excitement electrified the air at what seemed like an even match.

The mystery knight was given a new lance from an attendant as was Sandor, who tucked his new lance as well tightly to his side. This time, the knight in black spurred his horse first and sped down the list towards him. Nearly everyone in the crowd, even herself, had leaned towards the edge of the benches. The black knight's horse continued to leap forward, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground in tandem with the rhythm of her heart. Their lances clashed again, but the mystery knight's lance flew from his hand while Sandor retained his. "Quit your fucking around!" shouted the Hound. "Let's be done with it."

The swagger of the mystery knight seemed familiar as he turned to Sandor and taunted him with a mocking bow with his hand over his heart. The crowd laughed while Sansa wondered if he purposely did that in order to blind the Hound with anger. The two of them trotted to their proper places before spurring their horses towards each other once again. The Hound lifted his lance just a touch while the other knight crouched low and pressed his heels to the horse's side, commanding another burst of speed. The black knight pierced his lance straight into the inch of space to the side of Sandor's shield, the force of it so great that it immediately splintered upon impact.

Gasps filled the air as the Hound was pelted off his horse, landing hard onto the dirt-covered ground. The crowd had celebrated the mystery knight's victory with a thunderous applause, but their cheering quieted when he raised his hands to remove his helm. Hair of black spilled out and tumbled down their back while eyes of blue were now visible for all to see. "Prince Steffon?" Sansa muttered incredulously while her little sister jumped to her feet in shock.

The King laughed and stood, wine spilling over the rim of the chalice he held firmly in his grasp. "You little bastard," he said, his face ruddy from wine and cheer. "You should've told me you'd be jousting!"

"And what fun would that have been?" Steffon replied with one corner of his mouth tugged upward mischievously. He joined for the fun of it, it would seem. But Sansa's assumption had been proven wrong when he galloped down the list and towards the crowd to stop before a young woman. A attendant had come running with a laurel of roses red and velvet in bloom in their hands. He exchanged the laurel for the lance, so that the prince could lay it upon the lap of the girl that Sansa had not seen before.

Her hair was the color of fallen leaves; brown with perfect ringlets tied up in a Southern style so that everyone could see the perfect curves of her face. The tint of her locks played with the sunlight as she gently placed the laurel of flowers on her head with a sweet smile. Her eyes, bright and blue as her dress, had never left the Crown Prince's face. "My only purpose for winning was to properly crown Lady Margaery of House Tyrell the Queen of Love and Beauty," Steffon announced. His words had earned him applause as well as the giggling and sighs of both noblewomen and girls alike.

Like the princes and the knights in stories, Steffon had only wished to proclaim his admiration and nothing else.

* * *

 **A/N** : I did NOT mean to take this long. Life among other things kept me insanely busy.

So, I'm going with the books when it comes to this whole dagger ordeal and who sent the assassin to kill Bran. The dagger was indeed Littlefinger's but he lost it in a bet to Robert. Joffrey stole it and hired the assassin because he's obsessed in gaining Robert's approval. The show was a bit convoluted with this dagger plot and since this fic will be undoubtedly be an AU in many ways, its best I do it this way.

Also, I bet some of you were surprised by Sansa suddenly having a pov. I just enjoy how young Sansa romanticizes everything.

I actually didn't want Steffon to win the tourney. I was actually going to have the Hound kicks his ass, but the only way a person can crown someone the queen of love and beauty in a tourney is if they win. So, because I care more about Steffon's plan, I decided to make him win the joust. _The things I do for storytelling..._

Next chapter, Steffon and Margaery size one another up while Joanna attempts to steal some sweetsleep from Luwin's turret.

lovinurbuks: Thank you! Yes, I know some things have to stay in place but things will get rearranged to align in this AU. Didn't expect the assassin to say that, did you? It's very interesting because even if he suggested Tyrion as you suspected, Joanna still would try to protect the secret because she loves her family that much. Even if they are wrong. I can't say anything about Nymeria and Lady, but they'll make an appearance very later on in the story.

PyschoBeachGirl88: I am so sorry. I bet you thought I abandoned it. I can't abandon my stories, I have too much inspiration for them. I'm glad you love Steffon enough to see/want him to be king. Being king or any sort of leadership in Game of Thrones makes you pay a hell of a price... usually death! Ohohoho, I can't say anything about Joffrey because then I would be spoiling it. And Joanna is gonna have better moments than this in the future. I'm actually excited about it. I hoped you like them in this chapter. It feels like a semi-slowburn.

ShpperofTrashyShips: It definitely was massive. I looked back and was like "Damn, I did a lot here" I hope you stick around and see where I'm leading these two.

Guest1995: It's always at a price, though. He definitely made the rift between him and Cersei as well a the rift between him and Joffrey worse. I hope you like what I intend to do with Steffon and the Starks. c: I definitely can't say anything about that, but you'll be satisfied. Ohohoho, well it looks like what you suspect between him and Margaery is actually something that possibly might happen.

PPAM: Never that! Yikes, Arya is way too young and there's only one person I could ever see her with and it's definitely not Steffon.

Bearislander: Thank you! And I am definitely continuing this.

Wombat8: It gets better, though! Lol. I love the Starks so much that I have write everything about them. I can't just ignore them for my own characters. I love playing with the ideas of what goes on with them and how they would react in certain situations. As I was writing that whole thing, I perfectly saw Jon in my head trying his hardest not to laugh at her weak threats and Robb doing the same. That's probably why I like book Jon more because he's actually warmer than the serious Jon we see on the show. I will be damned if anyone disagrees that Arya before becoming an assassin wasn't a wild sleeper. It's canon. It has to be. Robb is a curious person! Like, you saw him all desperate to understand Talisa's perspective at the risk of everything else. I got the impression that once he likes someone, he wants to know everything about them. And because Joanna is afraid for him to think her childish and is pretty much a people pleaser, it bothers him even more. It's likely that they'll see each other when everything is going to hell. Lmao. It makes me so mad that we didn't get more of Myrcella on the show. She's actually really smart and brave, but I understand the show couldn't show everything because she's not a major character and there's way too much going on to include all those things. At least they showed how loving she is because that scene between her and Jaime absolutely breaks my heart. And then I ruined that sweet moment between Steff and Cersei in this chapter. Lmao. I will forever hate how mean that septa was to Arya and I'm still mad that nobody stuck up for her when Mordane was so overbearing. Oh, definitely. Robert has shitty memory and he's abhorrently selfish. Like, it was pretty obvious Lyanna wasn't interested in him but in his warped mind, he had a fighting chance. Steff loves him dearly, but he's not blind. I'm actually excited about writing Jon again because it's going to be...chaotic. Joanna is definitely the clingy twin! But now she has no choice but to grow out of it. She's like that mom that calls you nearly everyday on your first week of college if you stay on campus. Ahhhhhh, thank you! I do love writing day-to-day things because it fleshes out the bond between characters. Like, it's better to see how their relationship strengthen and grows than to just say it. To be honest, I thought about something bad happening in that scene but decided not to because it wasn't necessary with what was going to happen. I had to writing Arya thinking it was Ice because I'm still sad about what happened to that sword. / weeps ) You could say Loreon was protecting the three of them. Oh, he definitely has a darker side. It's pretty telling that his connections aren't exactly... clean. He does a lot thinking and lot of sneaking. Ohhhhhhhh, you're gonna to see. He has very good reason for that. I think another reviewer got the gist of his reason for that. Yeah, I'm still pretty sure nobody has done it yet. I won't take credit, but I definitely have read it. I've seen some short AUs on Cersei's relationship of the possible Baratheon firstborn and they were all heartbreaking. And I guess... I'm somewhat following that formula myself. You're sorry about that but I need to be sorry for not having updated in sooooo long! Haha, review writer's block. I have had that before, too! I never heard someone call it that. But ahhhhh, I love your reviews. You pick up on so many of the little details I sneak in.

Elex Black: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! c: That would be, wouldn't it? She most definitely would. But Joffrey would lose it even more! I mean, he already has one obstacle, so to add more? He'll go more than insane. Thank you for reviewing!

Emily Matthey: I have finally updated... After so long. The wait was crazy, wasn't it?


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